Mx. Rambler

Category: to him.

  • Written June, 2024

    [Redacted]

    I don’t even know if I have anything to write; I just wanted to talk to you. About anything, really. But I can’t call or text you. Sometimes I just wish you were beside me to rant about whatever your mind has decided is fascinating today. What random, intriguing facts are going through your head on the days I miss out on seeing you? Did they come from a book? An article? Podcast? Documentary? I can’t get my mind to focus on these things long enough to absorb information from them, but the passion in your voice and your eyes when you speak of them gets it to stick in my head.

    Do I have even a sliver of a chance? I think that, as long as others seem to think so, I might pretend like I do. It’s more fun that way. Plus, at some point I have to start trying to believe that the parts of me I think make me undesirable are a larger roadblock in my head than they are to others in reality.

    Would someone who says that they wouldn’t date someone who’s bi really ignore the parts of me they like because of whatever preconceived notions they already have about it? Or am I enough, with all the other facets of my personality, for them to realize that was maybe a silly thought to have in the first place? At what age do things become less superficial? At what point is someone’s connection with me enough?

    Fun fact: I went outside to write this and listen to some music, but I accidentally locked myself out of the house. I guess you’re stuck with me for a little bit longer.

    I don’t think we’d make that bad of a match. So far, the biggest thing people question when they find out about my feelings for you is how I can like you with your temper. I either haven’t seen your “temper” that they’re talking about yet (which maybe there’s a reason for?) or I know you well enough to view it as other than a temper. As far as I’m concerned, the state of you being “an asshole” is just a combination of frustration and overstimulation. Especially if you’re living with the neurodivergence you think you are.

    We find a lot of the same things interesting. I think we could support each other really well and have a lot of fun together, especially if you have an interest in traveling as much as I do. Based on what you’ve opened up to me about so far, I think there’s a possibility for a lot of empathy for each other’s family situations. While I may not be living the same scenario as well, a lot of what you say echoes my own experiences.

    When I think about potentially telling you how I feel, I wonder if writing a letter would be too much. Doing it over text seems impersonal, and it’s not like I’d be able to straight up say something at work. I’d try to keep it short and simple. Emphasis on “try.” I’ve written enough in digital notes and physical pages to be able to pull something appropriate of sharing, I’m sure. It’ll be the first time I allow myself to actually put your name to paper instead of redacting it, at the very least.

    What would I even say? Something about enjoying getting to know you a bit through our conversations at work? Enjoying how you share the things you’re passionate about? Appreciating how everyone has stories to tell about how you always are the first one to stand up for others?

    —

  • Written 5/19/24

    [Redacted]

    I’ll put on some music and write about you. Maybe. If I can get my hand to move across the page.

    Fun fact: you’re the first person I’m doing this for. I have pages and pages of poetry dedicated to people (don’t think you’re not included,) but I have yet to write like this with nowhere to put it.

    It’s been over a month of me feeling this way. I keep a list of all the people I’ve ever had a crush on, and adding your name felt more right that it has in a while. Unfortunately, you’re also probably the most problematic crush I’ve had. And I’ve liked a boy that was gay.

    Your age doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. It’d probably feel worse on your end than mine, but I quite honestly don’t mind, so if there’s any version of this crazy universe in which you like me, you shouldn’t pay it any mind either. More importantly, we work together, but if there’s any version of this crazy universe in which you like me, then we can talk it through. I’m sure we can agree on something that works.

    You’re filled with so much knowledge, and somehow it’s all stuff I’m interested in, but haven’t dug deep enough to learn myself. You’re brimming with ancient civilizations and theories and facts about the earth and those who could’ve wandered it hundreds of thousands of years ago. You’re smart enough to get computers to think you’re cheating at chess. Your dry sense of humor compliments mine, and I see myself mirrored in the ways we awkwardly cover our tracks when wrong-footed. You make me laugh. My friends call you “adorkable.” I miss being around you when I’m gone, and a feeling of calmness blankets over me when I see you again.

    You do silly stuff that makes me smile, like when I was crouching down to dig my keys out of my sweatshirt and you crouched down next to me so I could hear the customer on the phone. Like when I couldn’t read something on the wall across from us, so you pressed your side against mine and leaned your face in close to see if you were having the same problem. An echo of another boy falling to his knees upon me entering a classroom as a callback to a performance.

    I love the way your voice drops and the kindness it takes on when you share something only meant for me. The way you hold eye contact with me when answering someone else’s question. The shine of your eyes when you smile. The sadness in them when I mentioned the possibility of me leaving earlier than expected. Your attentiveness and excitement for the things I tell you. The way you said you’d read my work even if it was 11 pages of the smallest font you’ve ever seen.

    My biggest fear is that I’m reading too much into the small moments. Even if they weren’t symbolic of reciprocity, I hope they at least hint to some sort of preference. But everyone acknowledges how kind and hilarious you are. As they should. But does this mean I’m not experiencing anything special?

    Even if the answer is a no, a part of me hopes that you can at least recognize that there’s something special in the way I act towards you. I try to hide it at work, but my closest friends can tell that I’m flirting my heart out from a mile away. I think there’s something nice and pure in knowing that someone feels affectionately towards you.

    —

  • You’re the first one to make me want to write letters instead of poetry.

    [Redacted]

    I’ll be the first to admit that I catch feelings for people relatively quick, but rarely does it amount to me considering voicing my feelings as seriously as I do now. Yet here I am. Pulling these thoughts from my head and my heart. Trying to string them into some sort of coherent series of sentences that will accurately portray what I’m wanting to say.

    Do people often tell you how soft your hands are? I was surprised when they first brushed mine. I got my first callous doing the same thing you’ve been doing for over a decade. How are yours not covered in them?

    I’m struck by the sense of calm that washes over me when I’m around you. Of course I get worried that I’m making a fool of myself in front of you, but all in all, I mainly just feel happy and content. This is even more surprising when you count the beats of my heart at the excitement of seeing you again.

    Four summers ago, I began writing letters to the one I will one day marry. I stopped for a while, but a part of me wonders if the fact that I’m drafting letters to you that I will never hand off is a sign.

    If you feel the same way, I hope you throw caution to the wind. Don’t let whatever may be standing in our way stop you from exploring your feelings. I promise you that this would be more important to me. You’ll see proof in the hundreds of words I’ll have written about it.

    —