Hey guys,
I wanted to share another quick thought with all of you (this is based on the assumption that there is a ‘you’ at all, and if not… well, I’ve basically been monologuing to a digital wall for fun).
So here is a broken jukebox of my haphazard thoughts:
To the Boy Who Wanders Unsolicited Into My Mind
I’m terrified when I talk to you.
Terrified the way people are when they reach the top of a rollercoaster. You know what I’m talking about – your stomach tightening, breath catching, nerves stretching thin. That jittery moment when everything around you goes still for a split second.
You know the fall is coming, and yet you find a strange sort of thrill in being suspended at that zenith, a craving for the feeling of being weightless.
You make me feel that way. I’m petrified that the rollercoaster has already reached it’s height. Not petrified by the feeling itself, but rather, knowing that I will drop after that. You make me feel like I’m on top of the world, and my god, that is a long, long way to fall back down.
This is the problem with teenage love – it’s all-consuming, an insatiable and unquenchable fire that feels like it will devour your entire world (but in hindsight, it’ll probably seem the way we humans do from the moon, inconsequentially tiny).
Maybe I’m just being dramatic, and maybe the fall won’t leave me empty the way rollercoasters do, or maybe there will be another loop or two – but I know this much… I love you.
(And I’m not scared of texting this because I fear how you’ll respond – I’m just scared of uttering these words, because if I admit there’s a rollercoaster, there will inevitably be a fall.)
To My Dad
I know that I fight with you sometimes, and I often don’t speak to you afterwards. I know I take the small acts of service that you do – cutting up plates of fruit into elaborate arrangements, the soft whispers of “your voice sounds great” and a pat on the head while I practice music, the gentle tucking of the blanket when sleep flits over my features – for granted sometimes, and I want you to know that I do appreciate them so much, and that I selfishly look forward to these every day.
I may not voice it, but that’s because sometimes there are so many words that they flow right up to my lips and get tangled, all stumbling over one another and arguing to see which one will come out, and the classic, bland ‘thank you’ comes teetering out. But even when I say stupid things like this, I want you to know that what I mean is, I’m sorry for every apology that didn’t make it out, and thank you for every little thing you do – because it makes all the difference. Love you!
To the Teacher Who Rewrote My Perception of Life (This Wasn’t in the Syllabus…)
7th grade. I was on medical steroids and extremely conscious about my appearance (seriously, my jeans looked at me like I had betrayed them). I hated how I looked.
And then I talked to you. Really talked, not the awkward, formal teacher-student conversations. You noticed the long silences in class, the shrinking into my chair, the trying in vain to fit in.
You didn’t look at me like a crisis – you looked at me like a story still unfolding. And I can’t possibly put into words how grateful I am.
Not only did you understand, you also told me about what you grappled with when you were younger. Bullied, sick, and unhappy with how you looked. You not only had it much worse, but reacted more composedly.
You made me feel seen – so thank you so much for teaching us more than what was on the board (and making French a tolerable subject).
I’ll always miss the lunchtime gossip sessions you had with us non-meal seekers (yes, our school’s fancy term for the elite squad that got food from home). Wishing you all the best in your future endeavours, ma’am!
To My Younger Self
One day you’ll laugh about how dramatic you were (but just… not today).
To all the readers who made it to the end of this incredibly long rant: stay tuned for more melodramatic rambling 🙂
Yours truly,
Divi
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