Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
Over the weekend, I came to a shocking revelation of sorts. Shocking in the fact that you most definitely would not expect this to come forth streaming from these pages, and shocking in the fact that even I feel a bit bad for bringing to light this honesty (I know…me, afraid of being honest?). No, I can assure you: Hell has indeed not frozen over.
But the truth is this: I hate you. OK, well maybe hateis too strong of a word, but you’ve certainly got my blood boiling – and not in the way you’re thinking or hoping, Sweetpea, sorry. I don’t hate you. I love you, and I suppose my love is why hatred is the first emotion I cling to. Confused?
So am I, to say the least. But nonetheless, I am a bit mad at you; yes, mad is probably a more accurate term.
I’m mad that you already know the beginning of our story.
I’m mad that you know the story of our first date, our first kiss (which, by the way, sir, will not happen on our first date – that much I do know), our first fight, our first everything.
I’m mad you know the story of that moment you knew we were meant for each other, the story of the proposal (Did I do the proposing?), the story of the wedding planning (I wasn’t a Bridezilla, was I?)
I’m mad that you know my likes, my dislikes, my annoyances, my dreams, my passions, my goals, my fears.
I’m mad that you probably make all those fears disappear in what seems like the long-distance future at this moment.
I’m mad that you know me wherever you are now, while back here in 2009, I have virtually no idea who you are – though I do have some candidates I wouldn’t mind see turn into you.
Does that make any sense? I feel like you get to go to the party and have all the fun with all the cool kids while I’m stuck sitting at home, in the corner, wearing a large, albeit pretty and fashionable dunce cap. Maybe I’m not being patient enough. Maybe I want it too much. I used to think that I was powerful enough to hurry along this little thing called Fate, but now? Well, let’s just say I’m not so sure.
So until then, or rather, until now when you’re reading this, please don’t be mad at me for being only a little mad at you. It’s only because I love you so much. Until we meet…
[Photos via Deerlings & Ghostthings]