it just suggests that nothing's really perfect.

Dear you,

Every time you sit next to me, I'm tempted to count your freckles. And I can't help but wonder if I'll ever get to, or if I'll never be that kind of person for you.

I doubt you'll ever see me as more than that pessimistic girl who sometimes says something snark-y or stupid that makes you laugh. And I am a pessimist, because though I like to lie and say I'm just a realist, I'm constantly seeing things negatively. I'm self-depreciating and pathetic and that's fine, because that's just how I work.

Maybe it was from one too many boys telling me if I was prettier they'd love me, or maybe it was from knowing all those secrets and feelings that I never even asked for, or maybe it was from never feeling good enough to know those things in the first place. But maybe that's also why I was told those things, because I'm not good enough, so what would be the point in keeping those things from me?

I feel like I'm that locked mailbox no official mail has been delivered to in years, that teenagers keep dropping off their suicide notes and unrequited love letters into, where people drop off their real feelings to help keep their smiles plastered upon their faces.

But that's not the point of this letter, not really. The point here is to tell you that I really want to be that sort of person who is allowed to count your freckles. I don't think I love you, not like that. I think maybe I could. I think maybe there's something sad in you that you won't tell because like me, you hate picking truth and always pick dare, no matter the consequences.

I just really appreciate the fact that you laugh at my puns, because you know, they're terrible. They're awful, but you like them because they're spontaneous, or at least that's what you told me. And I'm glad that I'm at least your friend enough for you to be honestly worried about me when I get too dizzy, but that we're not so close you immediately think of me for a favor. I like that we both don't need physical contact, but that when you held my hand, you made me lock fingers with you. I think I just like you as a person right now, but I think I love your freckles.

Maybe that's shallow of me, but maybe I just don't want to think too deeply on anything I might actually feel because I'm not so good with truth.

Sincerely,
xx
Blue