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Dear Ricky Bobby,

Hello. Remember me? I'm the chick who's friends with Johnny. You know, the girl who liked you in eighth grade.

The girl you never gave a chance. The girl you'd completely ignore on some occasion, and then worse, on other occasions, talk to and then go and flirt with another girl right in front of her. The girl you'd never even try to get to know. The girl who'd never get a second glance from you. The girl who you'd catch staring at you in eighth grade History class, and you'd give her this smug look, as if to say, 'Just watch. You'll never get over me. Grovel, bitch.'

I don't think you realize just how much I liked you. Just seeing you across the hallway was enough to fry my nerves. It would take an entire class just to summon up the courage to talk to you, and some times, I still couldn't do it. I could hardly look you in the face, it was almost too much for me to bear.
Hell, I didn't like you. I was in love with you.

Unrequited, yes, but none the less, that was it. It happened so fast, and I was so young, but people say that when you love someone, you just know. And I knew.

I loved everything about you. The way you'd suddenly say something so profound, and it would catch me off guard. The sarcastic, thoughtful way you'd respond to some thing someone said, and I'd wonder how someone could be so interesting. The way you could wear a big red Elmo shirt, and not be embarrassed or even abashed. The way you'd sway from foot to foot when you were nervous. Everything.

You were close friends with Best Friend Rose, and I was pretty good friends with Johnny then, but I still felt a million miles away from you.

I was just this awkward, shy, plain girl who you barely knew, a girl with absolute zero chance of ever being a beautiful, tall blond cheerleader like Sissy, who you dated, by the way. (I know you said recently that you didn't go for her type anymore, but that's not really the point. The point is, you dated her, period.)

And when you found out I liked you, nothing changed. I tried my hardest to get to you, without trying to seem desperate, and it was without avail. I was just another admirer to you, and nothing more, even though I opened up to you and made myself completely vulnerable.
And on the day of eighth grade graduation, I suppose you were humoring me. Am I right? The super long hugs, the lingering looks, the smiles. 'Oh, hell, why not? I'm moving away from this place tomorrow, anyway. I'll just humor the poor thing. After all, she did give me a t-shirt.'

Fast forward two and a half years later, and I'm pretty much at the same place.
I thought I'd come far, but wow, was I kidding myself, or what? For two years I've tried and tried again to stop thinking about you, to stop wondering about you, to stop thinking about what could have been, but never was. But I can't.

You're like a mouse trap. You're like nicotine. You're like poison. You're so bad for me, and yet I keep getting lured in. I keep coming back, like a fatal addiction.
Why?

And meanwhile, you have no idea. You have no idea about how much you've ruined me. You go about your life, free as a bird, never being weighed down by your past walking in front of you on two legs.
You experience life free of heartbreak, going from willing girl to willing girl, while I sit aside and watch and die a little more inside.

I've gotten better than before, I'll admit that. I'm coming a little closer to letting you go. But I keep letting myself hope, hope that something could still happen, hope that one day you'll look at me and go, 'Wow. What have I been thinking? It's you. It's always been you.'

But you won't. I know you won't, because my hopes get crushed every time.

Despite all of this, however, I do have one thing to thank you for.
Thank you for being reasonably nice to me. Even though I was way too into you, and you obviously weren't into me, you didn't curse me out or call me names or treat me horribly, like most guys probably would have. There were some days that you blew me off, or pretended like I wasn't there, but at least you weren't cruel about it. So thanks, I guess.

And even though things have been slightly different lately, what with you and me talking and hanging out at two football games, and almost going to have coffee, I know that it all still means nothing to you. I'm just a friend, if that(as of right now, I don't think so), and that's all I'll ever be.

I'm starting to be okay with that now, and I'm not as sad about it anymore. I just hate how much time I've wasted on you.
Most people don't spend this much energy on something unrequited, and heck, some don't even spend this energy over broken requited love. I know that it isn't typical, and it probably isn't normal, either.

Maybe it's because I feel like you were the one person that I felt like I could've really connected with, and now that I know can't/won't ever have you, there'll be no one else that can even come as close as you did.

So.
I know you'll never read this, but if by some off chance that you do, and you know that it's about you and you know who I am, at least now you know.

Despite all I've said about you, I do want you to be happy. I care about your happiness. Please don't ever settle. You may have some issues to work out, hell who doesn't, but you're really something, you know that? You deserve someone who's good to you and loves you and you love back with every inch of your heart. Be happy.

Signed,

Sarah, the girl who loved you, and the girl who's in a long standing, painful journey to get over you.
(xo Hopeless Romantic)

Labels: life, ricky bobby, secrets

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