For Bluebird

The fact that you will probably never read this makes it easier on me, but should this ever find its way to you the first thing I would want to know is who on earth got you to read this? Who handed you the phone, tablet, laptop, sent you this letter by message, or whatever and told you that you needed to read this? That’s my first question, and that will probably be the easiest to answer. After that any other questions I have from back when we knew each other better than the rest of our friends become more of a grey area, because it’s not just your thoughts or my thoughts. It’s the both of our thoughts and even the part of our time together than either of us can remember.

So why ask? Why ask questions that probably can’t be answered? Why even write a letter you more than likely won’t see? Well, I don’t really know why. It helps, I guess. It helps me think, it helps me remember my past so I know what I’m doing now, and honestly I like writing about you, about us. It’s one heck of a drama. I just hope someone who reads this doesn’t make the same mistakes.

I honestly thought this would be easy to write, but trying to use reason over my emotion has never been easy for me. When it comes to you, my emotions make me an awful person (I never said I was going to be nice right?), but I don’t want to do this today. I don’t want to feel angry, sad, or some other third thing about everything between us, so I guess we’ll see how this goes.


I guess you could say we were never really friends. We met at an odd point, the end of the school year, and to be honest I didn’t like you all that much. I’ll also have to add that I didn’t like you because my friends didn’t like you. From what they said you weren’t very nice, so that was that for me. Summer came and all memory of who you were left my mind because you weren’t that important at the time. And that okay, because once school started up again you went from one side of the scale of importance to the other in what feels like an instant.

I liked you a lot, there's no other way to describe it. You were funny, sweet, and a mystery I felt the need to pursue. We fell for each other, and dared to say we were in love. You treated me differently, it was something that I didn’t, and sometimes still don’t, understand. The looks you would give me were so full of love that I myself began to wonder if I looked at you the same way. Did I look at you the same way? I hope I did. I hope you know you made me feel happy.

Our love was built from hiding. Hiding ourselves from everyone who may have not approved of us, hiding any negative feelings from each other, and eventually arguing over the smallest, most unnecessary things we could imagine. I’ll take fault for that, and I consider this the reason why any friend who comes to me with a relationship problem is immediately given a “communication is key” speech. We didn’t know how to talk to each other. Why wouldn’t you ever tell me what was wrong?

We had habits of becoming possessive of one another. It sounds a little weird to say it like that, but for lack of a better word that’s what it was. Possessive. Sure there were other people between the both of us, and that was perhaps part of the problem. There was never a time where I wasn’t yours, or where you weren’t mine. It led to dramatic episodes I refuse to write. Just let it be said that we had a way of turning the other into people we were not.

It wasn’t all bad though. I sometimes only think that because I chose not to see you as a good piece of my small life here on earth. You’re a good memory. There were a lot of laughs, hugs, smiles that were so wide I worried our jaws would break from being this happy. There was this time after school where we both stayed for an event, and though it was more for me you came anyway. We took pictures, listened to music, and just had an all around good time. At least, I had a good time. Were you happy? Am I a good memory? It’s okay if I’m not. In fact I’d understand if I wasn’t, no judging there. You weren’t a good memory for a long time… a very long time.

Sometimes I wonder if we met too soon. I already said I didn’t fully understand the way we were, and sometimes I think if it was due to the fact that we weren’t supposed to me that day, at that place, at that school. I wonder if we had met later would it still have ended as it had before? I feel certain it wouldn’t have last to today, but at the same time there is always doubt that comes when I think about things like this. Sometimes I think we could still be friends, but then I remember we had tried that and obviously failed. After all, we weren’t friends to begin with.

So now I’ve come full circle, after all this time I still feel like that grand idea of closure isn’t possible. I don’t know why. Maybe our story isn’t exactly over yet. Maybe we’ll cross paths again another time. I’ll probably never know, but that’s okay. Unanswered questions are what keep me sane.

That’s my letter to you Bluejay. You’re the first one written, but certainly not the last.

Wishing you well,

Lizz

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