An Open Letter to The Girl I Can’t Get Over.
I never really wrote about you.
I don’t like that right now, I am obsessing over somebody else to forget you. Hell, this isn’t even the first person I am fantasizing about to keep you out of my mind. This one’s mental rebound number 2.
But the truth is, I keep daydreaming about you. Hoping that one day, some eight or ten years later, you’ll show up at my doorstep, pink hair and mammoth bags under your eyes, looking for a place to stay. Hopefully somewhere in Canada, like Waterloo or Vancouver. I keep praying that you’ll go through a divorce (a not-so-messy one, hopefully) – because let’s face it, your mother will marry you off to some business tycoon the second you graduate. Maybe you’ll divorce him because he’s boring and kinda wack in the sack and only invests in Axe perfumes. Or maybe he’s too busy reading newspapers and pretending to be a concerned citizen while sitting on his pompous ass and nurturing his oil-lathered belly and shiny bald head. I don’t know. Either way, I dream of you coming to me, not in the hopes of finding refuge somewhere, but in the hopes of telling me that after eight years, the feelings are no longer unmutual. To let the woman who fell in love with you, even after knowing you’d never want her, know that you’re ready to fall into her arms.
I’ll keep the rest of the daydream to myself. Just know that all that you find so ugly about yourself makes you so much more beautiful than you realize. The freckles, the pimples, the slightly unhinged laughter. You are too much of everything blissful and too little of what the world needs – because the world needs more miracles like you.
You are currently asleep or watching some nobody-ever-heard-of-this movie that you’ll later recommend. And I keep wishing that one night, just one night, you asked yourself: what would it be like to date this too tall, too dull human?
Source: BAH ( Bangladesh Against Homophobia)