Hi.
Article by Anonymous Art by Liz White
Or hola, because we only spoke in Spanish. But I will write this letter in English, because it is the boring, monotone language you dislike and don’t know, and I can guarantee you will never read this.
I just wanted to say that I regret that we will never see each other again.
And that I woke up with your lighter in my pocket, but I lost mine along the way.
And that I hope you and your friends find happiness and time to think of me and my friends now and again.
I’m a shit English major because words fail me at times like this. You discovered I was a poor student when you questioned why I even needed to study English if I already spoke it. Good point. I much preferred our night of no English. The world would be simpler if I studied what would bring me closer to you.
I often find myself fondly reflecting on the time we shared: our playful dancing in the bar or the intimate shot-taking lessons you took upon yourself to give me. I miss your smiles and strong arms, your leather jacket, and your warm body. When I find myself walking down a street alone, my mind flashes back to the way you always waited to link my arm through yours before you would take a step. You are so sure of your steps and your direction– something I admire about you– and yet you did not allow me to fall behind or recede into your shadow. You brought me along with you, and so I suppose I owe you a lot of my confidence too.
I’m going to tell you a secret that I’m sure you would be mortified to know that I know. You presented yourself so strong and self-assured to me that I would never have thought to question if you were anything else. However, there are no secrets between girls, and my girlfriend from that night– Estupida as I remember nicknaming her– told me everything. She told me how you were nervous to kiss me so you asked her for advice on how to approach and woo me. She told me how you were timid and scared of doing something wrong, and how she had to reassure you of my interest.
I don’t think I’m intimidating, but perhaps I should be flattered that my presence flustered you. Your hands, to their credit, did not waver or sweat when you held my hand, my hips, my neck, my cheek. You were the epitome of perfection and that is why I was scared. After that initial fright, I went back out for you, but you had disappeared by then.
Your dependable body I had become accustomed to had vanished, but you still had a weird way of showing me care. By answering your friend’s call and listening to my failing Spanish. By calling me the next day to ask how I was doing. You faded more and more, and yet I still think about you every day.
I want to thank you for having kind friends who loved my friends too. Thank you for showing me happiness and life. Thank you for making me laugh and teaching me strength.
I realized recently that I am not the main character of my dreams. When I remember them, I can only recall how I am a passive bystander who lets the action slip past, intangible and foreign. You’re like my dream where I can’t seem to take action or hold on. I imagine if I were to ever return to your world, I could make my dream come true. Maybe I would fix everything I have spent the past month agonizing over. I would absolve my regret; you would muster up more courage. I wouldn’t leave you out there standing on my doorstep, with nowhere to go but home. And you wouldn’t leave me with only a cursed lighter as a reminder of you.
I don’t know how to end this letter. “Sincerely” is not good enough for a closing– this entire letter is clearly raw and sincere. “Love” is too strong a word to explain what we had. And nobody closes a romantic letter with “regretfully,” “passionately,” or “sadly.” I think I’ll close out this letter with my name; the first reason is because you may have forgotten it, and the second is because Hope is all I have for my future and the potential it has to make our paths cross again.
Hopefully [to writing our wrongs],
The Girl Still Chasing Her Dreams