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But then you met Lulu...
Which brings me back to this letter and the reason I’m writing it. Because while yes, I’m in love with you, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re dating my best friend. That you won’t ever be mine. That I can never tell you how I truly feel.
I’ve been envious of Lulu since the first time I met her, but I’ve never been more jealous of her than I was tonight. The way you held her. The way you looked at her. The way you kissed her. It’s like I could physically feel my heart breaking. I tried not to watch. I tried to look away. But like anytime you’re in the room, I found it impossible to look anywhere but at you.
They say everything happens for a reason and that what’s meant to be will be. I don’t know how true that is, but I have to believe there’s a reason you’re not mine. Maybe the universe has other plans for us. Maybe, years from now, everything will be different and the reasons why I couldn’t have you will become clear and everything will turn out as it was always meant to. Or maybe it won’t. But I have to believe it will. I have to...
You belong to Lulu. No matter how badly that hurts, no matter how much I wish it weren’t the case, the fact still remains that you do. And I have to find a way to be okay with that.
They say if you love someone, set them free. Words spoken by someone who’s never loved anyone. Because if they had, if they had felt even a fraction of what I feel for you, they’d know that letting go is impossible. And yet, isn’t that the point of this letter? To let you go. To make my peace with what can never be and find a way to move on.
I know you won’t ever read this letter. Truthfully, I’d be mortified if you did. But it doesn’t make any of this less true. You will forever be the first person to have stolen my heart. I just hope one day that you give enough of it back to allow me to love someone who isn’t you.
Almost never,
Hope
I stare down at the words I’ve written, the ink thick and dark against the white paper. The ridiculous ramblings of a lovesick teenager. God, how pathetic am I?
I have to resist the urge to rip the page from the book and tear it into a million tiny pieces.
Instead, I read it. Over and over again. So many times that by the time I’m done, I’ve all but memorized every word on the page. And even though writing it wasn’t some miracle fix, I do have to admit that I feel slightly better. Like maybe I needed to get it out in order to move past it.
Closing the notebook, I shove it into the back of my desk drawer. I’ll figure out what to do with it later. For now, I want to find a way to reset and move on with my life so it doesn’t feel like I’m walking around with daggers in my chest.
Standing, I cross the room, collapsing down on my bed before reaching over to flip off the lamp. As the darkness settles over me, I make myself a promise. That tonight will be the very last night I will lie awake thinking of Alec Murray. I just hope it’s a promise I can keep...
