Hey. I’m not sure if you remember me but I remember you and now I find myself writing this letter to you. A dumb letter that will probably never find you. A dumb letter that part of me does want you to read while the other part doesn’t. I don’t think you’re supposed to read it.
You can calm down. I didn’t fall in love with you and I’m not asking that you fall in love with me. I’m not asking that we magically cross paths and engage in some cinematically orchestrated love story of the ages. I’m not asking for a roller coaster of emotions and memories. I’m not asking for your attention or your pity. I won’t beg for it. I’m writing this because I like to let people know that no matter how small of a part they play in my life, it means something.
I hold on too tightly to small encounters. The little encounters that make you smile when you think back about them. The little encounters that you can’t help but tell your friends about even though it meant absolutely nothing. The little encounters that at the time, make your heart flutter. Just for that moment. Years from now, when times have changed, this moment will be a fleeting thought. This makes me a sort of sad.
Okay. I’ll come clean, I do wish that something had happened. Just a little something. Just enough to make me wish that I wasn’t so stuck. I hate how much this is all bothering me.
I know you’re not my future husband and that we weren’t destined to ride off into the sunset. The sunset of stupid uncertainty. But I would’ve liked a little bit more. A little bit more of a story to tell, so that when my friends ask me for more details, I can actually give them something. I wish we had some sort of story where something actually happened. But we don’t and I’m contradicting what I said earlier about not caring because I do care. I actually care.
I just wanted a little bit more. I wish it wasn’t just a wink and a smile and a shot and a dance. I wish I had something more to write about. At least enough of a story so that I could over embellish the ending. Instead, I’m here, writing this letter, hoping that more conclusive thoughts find their way to the page but so far, nothing of worth has come out.
What will happen is that this letter, and all my other thoughts and emotions and feelings for you, will become buried by the paths we decided to take after that charming introduction. Our conversations of future aspirations and small intimate details will eventually fade away along with these words.
I’m not obsessive, it’s just that missed opportunities really bug me. I wonder what more could have happened? What more could I have done? I think the problem is, when you’re in that moment, you don’t realize it’s the moment until it’s too late.
So I walked the streets home that night, a dumb random song was stuck in my head for whatever reason and I hate that this song reminds me of everything (or rather all the things that didn’t happen). All the stupid excuses I made in my head or tried to give you. I think this is more of a letter for myself for always missing these moments. Time isn’t fleeting, it’s fucking sadistic.
So this is our song, that was our moment, and these were our times. And in about a month, I won’t care about any of it because, in the grand scheme of things, it means nothing. But right now I care and you don’t care but I’ll tell myself that you do.
So here’s to us (or the lack thereof).
The Girl You Randomly Met That One Meaningless Night