To My Perfect Guy, I’m Sorry I’m Afraid To Give Us A Shot

woman standing looking down
Becca Tarter

I think I’d like to start this by apologizing. I don’t think I’d like us to happen anymore.

For almost a year now, I have known you. I’ve known who you are, but we haven’t officially met. I hear people talk about you and with every word people have spoken, I’ve grown more convinced that you are a marvel. I see your work and read your writing, I look at your pictures, and scroll through my feed to find your posts that always make my morning tea a little warmer.

Over the past year, I’ve gotten to know you more, bit by bit like a puzzle coming together. And with every other bit, an image of you developed in my head, you grew more perfect; more perfect for me. You were an exact replica of the guy I had always pictured myself being happy with. You were honest, humble, and reliable, you were authentic. You had empathy, you had dreams, ethics, standards, and you’re passion burned holes through my heart. You were strong and against all odds, you rose, over and over again; I admired you. A lot.

By this time, though, I realized I was afraid of something. I could’ve walked up to you and introduced myself many times, but I never did and it wasn’t because the timing wasn’t right, it was because I didn’t want to. I didn’t understand this earlier, but I was actually scared of meeting you, scared of getting to know you. I grew terrified of the idea of our worlds finally colliding because I’ve been waiting so long for something so immense, I was sure I over glorified it; you. In you, I saw no flaws, and that made me sure I wasn’t seeing things right.

I did not know you, why did I ever think I did? I liked the you that was obvious to everyone else and that surely wasn’t really you. I was falling for an idea; one I had eluded myself with regardless of its reality.

What if we do fall for each other and you’re nothing like what I had imagined you to be? What if your words are just words and your writing is merely paragraphs of shallow thoughts with a shovel? What if the loving caring person I see is just a facade over a narcissistic boy? What if you don’t fill the shoes I had made for you and you end up throwing them away; that would destroy me.

I’ve built you up so high I’m scared you’re really nowhere near the top.

Yes, I am a coward.

I don’t want to risk losing you even if that means never actually having you. Never truly having you would hurt less than losing you, it would hurt less than having you not be the guy I will eternally admire. I’d rather have your perfect image with me forever than have you smudge it with apology proof ink. I’d rather keep you abstract than have you be a disappointing reality. I’d rather have your notion intact than in pieces in front of me.

I’d rather have you stay than be real.

I’m sorry, I’d rather us never meet. TC mark

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