A Letter to the Boy Who Never Wanted to Fall in Love with Me

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I am not the girl you expected to fall in love with.

I am not the girl your friends would want you to hang out with, not the girl you’d proudly show off to them.

No, I am not the girl you want.

I don’t have that perfect body you used to fantasize about. I don’t have the perfect hair you dreamed of running your fingers through. I don’t wear the clothes that you used to see as you glanced on those fashion magazines.

I cannot go along with the things you love. I can’t play sports with you. I don’t play those video games you love. I don’t listen to the songs that you like. I don’t go out to party. I barely get out of the house.

I am everything you hate.

I am clumsy and look unkempt most of time – I barely remember to comb my hair, makeup is a chore. I’d always rather choose to stay at home than party. My idea of having fun is reading books and staying in.

I am everything you do not want.

I am not the girl your mother used to warn you about, warned you to stay away from.

I am the girl your father told you about – the girl he let go, the one your mother never knew about. I am the girl, he said, that would change your life – for the better, for the worse.

And yet you fell for me, and for that I apologize.

I, too, do not understand.

I never wanted to make you miserable because you can’t change me into the girl you’ve always dreamed about.

Was it the conversations, the way I made you realize that you’re not shallow at all?

Was it the way I made you laugh?

Was it the way I made you feel that you’re more than what you think you are?

Whatever the reason is, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you fell in love with me and I’m sorry I’m not the woman you dreamed I would be.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that you’d never pick me up for a party; instead, you’d be struggling to pick me up after each wave of my depression hit.

I’m sorry that you’d never taste beer from my lips; instead, you’d taste my tears.

I’m sorry that you’d never see me in fishnets and lingerie; instead, you’d get to see the scars and bruises of my body.

I’m sorry for putting you through things you shouldn’t even be dealing with.

But let me make up for it.

Let me be the girl who’d support you all through out.

Let me be the girl who’d memorize every curve and plane of your face, of your body.

Let me be the girl who’d hold you as you chased the terrors of your nightmares away at night.

Let me be the girl who’d remember by heart your little quirks and habits.

Let me be the girl who won’t change you, but instead be there for you, be with you, as you discover who you are.

Let me be the girl who’d immortalize you through her poetry. Let me write stories about you.

Let me be the girl who’d fight for you, no matter what happens.

Let me be the girl who’d choose you over and over again.

Let me be the girl who’d stay with you through your ups and downs.

Let me be the girl who’d never walk away.

Let me be the girl who’d love you completely.

Let me be the girl you’d never regret unexpectedly falling in love with.

She Can’t

She can’t tell you how she feels
You’d call her selfish.
She can’t tell you her doubts
You’d call her full of insecurity.
She can’t tell you her jealousy
You’d call her possessive.
She can’t tell you not to leave
You’d call her clingy.
She can’t tell you her fears
You’d call her a coward.
She can’t tell you her complaints
You’d call her insensitive.
She can’t tell you her thoughts
You’d call her immature.
She can’t tell you about her tears
You’d call her over-acting.
She can’t tell you about her anymore –
How cynical she was before you met her.
How hopeless she was before you met her.
How lost she was before you found her.
She can’t tell you how you’ve forgotten –
That you’re the only who can make her cry.
That you’re the only one who can calm her down.
That you’re only one she has.
She can’t tell you how much it hurts.
She can’t tell you how she hates herself.
She can’t tell you how she blames herself.
She can’t tell you how she hurts herself.
All she can tell you is her smile.
All she can tell you is her laugh.
All she can tell you is “I’m okay”.

She can’t tell you she’s dying inside.