I recently watched the Netflix film To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, and, while it made me feel all fuzzy inside (and just a teensy bit more single than usual), it also got me thinking about Lara Jean’s letters and the idea behind them. So, here is my take on LJ’s letters rolled into one. This is an open letter to all those people who I thought I could love, at one time. I’m not naming any names though, because, unlike what happens in the film, I don’t think going public will work out that well. PS: You should definitely watch the film if you’re into that kind of thing. It’s very cute.
You were my first crush ever that I can remember. I was seventeen – late bloomer, I know. I thought you were really cool. I don’t think you’re that cool now, but not in a horrid way, just because I’m older now. You pop up in my life every few months and each time I get my hopes up only to get them dashed again. I could never get involved with someone like you, because I realize now that you jump from one thing to the next based on how alive it is, how vibrant, how in the moment. I wasn’t that girl then, and I’m still not her now.
You helped me realize that I was probably not as straight as I thought I was even though I never mentioned it to you at all. I used to get a fuzzy feeling in my stomach when you rested your head on my shoulder. I helped you through many a tough night by stroking your hair and listening to your troubles. I comforted you over someone who screwed you over. You let me listen to you play and it sounded like love to me. I was eighteen years old. When we fell out I tried to pretend like I had never been attracted to you anyway. That was a lie.
You were nice to me every time I bumped into you. I was nineteen and then I was twenty. I’ve always been a sucker for hair like yours. We flirted a lot one night when I had fake bruises like a choker around my neck and I thought there was hope, maybe, even though you had ignored me for most of the last year. When I plucked up the courage to act on it you pushed me down and I felt too humiliated to make eye contact with any of your friends for weeks in case you told them. I still feel a small sting thinking about it now. You were, to be honest, a complete arse in that situation and I felt unbelievably small but now I look back and think it was definitely for the best anyway.
You were the one that could have been a romance straight from a novel, but it was too much for me at the moment in time and I backed off with apologies and a heartfelt speech. I was twenty years old. You were lovely about it – too nice, really. I had a nickname for you that my friends and I would use. It was a nice nickname. Even when I knew your name I still used it. I’m sorry I gave you hope and then pulled away. I hope you’ve found someone equally lovely by now, someone who won’t smile at you every week, give you notes, and then leave.
You were the last and the worst. I was twenty years old. You screwed me over and you were a complete coward about it. You needed to learn that you cannot string people along and then dump them when it gets too much for you. I hope you have grown up a little now. I know now you were never right anyway. The only reason I convinced myself I liked you was because I was starting to be sick of being alone. You helped me realize that loving myself is a far better choice than settling for someone who never really liked me anyway.
Finally, I am sorry for the hurt I caused some of you who I loved before. I won’t ever receive an apology from any of you. I know you are all out there living your separate lives, but I think of you from time to time, and I hope you think of me, too. Also – if you think one of these paragraphs is about you, it probably isn’t.
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