Dear C.H.

Dear C.H.,

 

Bells, bells, scribbles, and bells

That's what you heard when you wrought your heart onto a paper

And shoved it into my hand at the end of eighth period.

You took off running after handing it in,

As if it was an assignment on Google Classroom, due at the end of the day,

Worth a million points.

 

Questions, questions, doubts, and questions

That’s what you saw swirling around your head after you walked off the emotional battlefield, Spanish class, carried by your friends’ support and curiosity.

“Yes I did it,” “yes I gave it to her,” “yes I did it,” “of course I was nervous,”

And so on and so forth until the interrogation died down;

And soon it was just you and your phone.

 

Vibrations, vibrations, angst, and vibrations

That’s what you felt every 5 seconds on Christmas break, which started the day after you exposed yourself to me.

Ghost vibrations to represent the ghost and the ghosted.

Ghost vibrations to represent your dying love.

Ghost vibrations to represent a question we both shared, “well what do I do now?”

 

Waited, waited, slept, and waited

That’s what I did as an inexperienced soldier in this emotional warfare.

I waited in the trenches,

Being told to charge by General Morals while also being told to retreat by Commander Fear, Morals’ superior.

Which was sometimes mistaken for President Apathy because he “just had one of those faces.”

 

Losers, losers, failures, and losers

That’s what we became in the end.

Wounded and sick, tired and worried,

Although one more than the other…

This is my treaty to you, C.H.

To end all fighting and make things right.

To become two separate sovereignties, willing and able to trade laughs, ideas, and friendship.

I want things platonic. Unfortunately, you will never overcome these wishes,

But I am sorry for not being diplomatic enough to say that in the first place.

 

This is how I should’ve responded.

 

Sincerely, Brianna

 

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