Dear boy I may have liked,
The truth is, I felt second best.
Picking up on me mere weeks after being turned down by my best friend made me feel like a reluctant second third fourth choice. You might not have meant it that way, but you used all the same lines and played all the same games. And I felt like maybe you only liked me because you wanted a relationship.
Which I do want one, a relationship. Just maybe, further in the future. (i.e Not after you’ve only noticed my existence for three weeks). But before I need a boyfriend, I need a best friend. (You know this. I told you and explained it to you. I can really see that it stuck.)
But those aren’t the only reasons.
The main reason I’m no longer “in like” with you is because when I turned you down, casually, politely and without a sliver of disdain, you shut me out. Permanently.
Why don’t we talk anymore? I still want to be friends!
Mostly, I don’t like that if I’m not your girlfriend, I’m not anything to you at all.
with lots of love like regards confusion,
Me.
What am I afraid of?
This phrase has been used to inspire heroes in timeless movie scenes where they realise that what they're afraid of isn't really that scary after all. And it's nice that it worked for them, but I see possibilities in everything, and let me tell you, I am very afraid of many things.
People are fragile. I'm worried what you'll think. I'm worried what she'll think. I'm worried about what my parents will think. I'm worried that I don't know what I want. I'm scared of the possibility of heartbreak. (Yours and mine). I'm worried I'll let you down. I'm worried that this will shatter everything.
So when you ask me what I'm afraid of, be prepared for a list.
I feel powerful as the words surge through me. Their original situation became redundant the moment the author released them for others to adopt, at which point the words conveyed a thousand different meanings to a thousand different interpreters.
That's the beauty of shared lyrics; they're public domain. The same words can be applied to different situations. They're relatable. People project their own lives into their ambiguous lyrics. At the core, humans all experience the same emotions, just in different contexts.
And as I sit here, I know that my context is different to the author's, but somehow we have connected, forever linked by a melody that touched our subconscious. That melody is now my life as well.
Feeling accomplished is a good feeling. I would go as far as to say that it is one of the sweetest feelings for a procrastinator such as myself. A soothing calm in your soul, telling you that for all your hard work, achievements have been made, settles into your chest with ease. Goals have been met; you have been... productive?
(gasp)
One of the better side effects of accomplishment is usually the motivation to do more, go further, set and achieve more goals.
As an idealist, this feeling is usually quite rare for me, so I try to savour it like a sweet dessert while it lasts. But mostly, I just hope that this feeling will benevolently visit me again, for surely only good things can come of its arrival...
To walk through a crowd with headphones in your ears and music in your heart is an incomparable feeling.
(But heaven help me if I won't try to describe it anyway).
The music doesn't completely block out the noice; the city has a naturally busy and loud disposition. You have a secret soundtrack that no-one else can hear. You're in your own personal movie and the song sets the mood of your scene. How will your movie play out? Who knows? Every step is filled with new meaning, new emotion flowing through your headphones into your every movement. You feel reminded of the fact that every other person in this crowd is living their own movie scene.
But movies just aren't the same without music.
When you tell me I'm beautiful, I smile in spite of myself. I feel like I shouldn't obsess over your words the way I do. I'm my own person. I don't need to rely on anyone else to make me feel secure. But your words still warm my heart. And that scares me. Because one day, still with that same fire, I may instead be burned.
You turn to me and tell me to continue.
It might be news to you, but that doesn't tend to happen very often. I'm used to being drowned out by stronger wills, louder opinions with more authority. But you care enough to listen to me. It's a novel feeling, the feeling of someone stopping to pay attention to your words, however insignificant they will be in the life and death of the universe. But it matter to me, and now, it seems to matter to you as well.
The way you raise your eyebrows and roll your eyes when all our friends are laughing makes me smile. We share a knowing look, but there's still a glimmer of amusement lingering. Their obnoxious giggles fade into background noise. For a single, fleeting moment, time belongs to us.
