To the Boy Whose Smile Could Resolve Wars:

Dear Boy Whose Smile (I thought at one point) Could Resolve Wars,

You aren’t as special as I thought. Your smile is still just as big, just as perfect of a natural crescent, and your wave is taht same styled wave of licorice black locks, but it’s all changed. It’s been different for a while now, but did you notice at all? No, probably not… and even if you did, you would go on pretending you didn’t just so you wouldn’t have to deal with my emotions. It’s not worth the awkwardness, right?

You’re such a soft boy (see definition). I’m not sure if you intended to follow that archetype or if you’re just naturally an asshole, but I cringe at myself for ever dreaming of a future with you. As soon as I learned your favorite sports team, I imagined us watching a game together with all of your friends that you talk so much about and your family who you love so much. I’d buy a jersey. Or maybe you’d let me wear one of yours even though they’re nearly *sacred* to you because I look cute enough in it to let it slide. I daydreamed about you stopping to look into my eyes and say you’ve finally woken up. You’ve realized that you’ve been dumb and been missing out on the beautiful person sitting in front of you. That you’ve been blind but now all you want to see is us. I told my sister that I could see us growing together, going on adventures, and laughing hysterically at each other’s oddities. And when I learned about your passions, even thought they didn’t align with my own interests, I drank in every damn word because learning about what you loved was one small step toward learning about how to make you interested in me. And you noticed that. You saw how I’d give feedback and listen to your monologues about cars when I know nearly nothing about them and text you back every time you sent me alien-looking sports cars because I was “a decent enough human being to do so”. All that attention I gifted you, all those times I racked my brain for something funny or thoughtful to reply with amounted to being a “decent human being”. I spent hours in your room talking about class, literature, cars, our families, our friends from back home, food places, pet peeves, sexual preferences, so many more things. And I think doors were opened–like you stripping to take a shower, coming back into the room with a wet chest, hair, and back and wrapped in towel, and offering your bed to me to sleep if I was tired when I live above you–but I didn’t cross the threshold because maybe you were just being nice? You probably meant it like a friend, right? No, you don’t like me, you’re just being a good guy.

But does a nice guy give you a $100 Nike jacket that smells like him because it’s a little chilly outside and “it’s too small” for him and “looks better on you anyways” when you live in the room upstairs? Does a nice guy say getting a late night snack with you is the best part of his day? Does a nice guy say things like “Dang, you’d get along wth my parents so well” or “I’m so glad we met. I think we really click” or “You’re one of the few people in this huge place that I actually trust” or “I’m only weird when I’m with you because I feel comfortable with you” or “Hey, if you’re tired, you can sleep here next to me” ? Does a nice guy give you a vague response back when you profess your feelings to him after you insisted that you didn’t want/need an answer, and then follow it with “I can’t say I’ve never thought of you that way, too… So do you wanna go on a date sometime?” ? You are the epitome of mixed signals. Your words made me feel like I was teetering right on the thin edge of being something special to you and being just a girl you talk to when it’s convenient for you. You never made an actual move. You shied away from my flirting. You went home a lot on the weekends, granted for family stuff but still evading me. You ghosted on me. And I wouldn’t care so much if I hadn’t believed you were actually my friend.

I told you to your face that you’re a soft boy, that you’re someone who fucks with girls’ emotions and make them believe you’re interested and maybe think they’re special all because of mixed signals and obscure statements that could be read as being really nice or as meaning something more. But at the end of the day, you don’t fuck all of them. You say all these foggy things and confuse them because that way, you can say you’re just being nice and can come back to really pursue them later if you feel like it, or if you’re bored after a different girl, or if you feel insecure about your own attractiveness and need a little confidence boost. Okay, I didn’t say the last sentence to your face. But you agreed with me that you were a soft boy. Did you think it was a joke? Do you not take my words seriously? Or maybe you’re just that dumb, or you’re one hell of an actor. Yeah, I’m bitter.

It’s because I’m hurt. I had never had a crush on someone the way I did for you. I couldn’t say your name without smiling. I looked at doors sometimes hoping that they’d open and in you’d walk, seeing me immediately. I studied in shared spaces near you hoping to bump into you, or that you’d find me. Or maybe you’d look for me, text me to see where I was, ask if you could come over and study with me. I wrote a little poetry about you. I blushed harder than ever when I gushed to my roommates about you, about my feelings, about the walks you asked me on at 2 AM. You don’t just do that with anyone, right? He’s totally into you. He likes you! Awe, I want you guys to happen. You’d be so cute together. It all made my heart jump in circles and stars and all the shapes in between. I drew hearts with your initials in it. I would force myself to wait a few minutes before opening your texts because I couldn’t let my excitement be that obvious. Some days I couldn’t study if we didn’t talk. I’d look at your profiles, search for any hint that you were an inkling as enchanted by me as I was with you.

But I think I really knew that you didn’t feel anything for me. That’s why I waited two months to say anything to you about my feelings, and why I told you in the first place and why I didn’t want any response. I didn’t want hope. I wanted catharsis. I wanted to be past you, because I knew you’d never be with me.

Now you have a girlfriend. You beckoned me away from my friends to meet her, and the stupid girl/good friend that I am, I went. I walked over and saw her sitting there with her pale skin, hazel eyes, blond hair, wearing your favorite jacket. I guess jackets are a thing with you, huh? I’m glad I got the one you bought last summer and outgrew this past quarter because you’ve been working out and growing and just don’t wear anymore even though you still think it looks really cool. She’s great, I’m sure. I’m not upset at her. I’m mad at you for not being honest and saying that you weren’t interested from the start. You should have been honest especially if you said you trusted me. Trust means knowing the person will try to understand and will keep your words with the utmost respect. Just say I’m not your type instead of calling me over to show me what she looks like and making it obvious which side of the table I’m on. I’ll tell you my feelings if I ever decide to waste my breath on the explanation or if you ever try to listen to someone other than yourself for more than 15 seconds. Goodness knows you won’t actually care about my feelings.

And yet here I am writing this lengthy blog post about you that I would never want you to read because it bares all my let down dreams and embarrassment from thinking “maybe…”. It’s fine, though. This will be the last time I ever waste my time with you.

So, to the Boy Whose Words Mean Nothing, have a nice life.



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