Bareback Rodeo posted:
I don't think it's unusual. On Tuesdays and Thursdays there's an older woman behind the counter of the library at University that I really want to have sex with. I think she's about 50 though, I'm not sure. I'm still working up the courage to ask her if she wants to go to the movies.
I fell in love with you one day near Hot Topic three years ago. I was doing a Groucho Marx impersonation and you didn't recognize it. I'm sure it was a very bad impersonation, but you didn't recognize it nonetheless. There I held you and vowed to let you inside my little world.
But things didn't work out. We were afraid. Neither of us could bring ourselves to change the great friendship we had. We both made that mistake. And so I began dating your best friend. I needed to stay in your life and to be with you, even if it was just as a friend.
Since then I've thought of you as a little sister. We've done everything together; we've been able to share the best times in our life together. We've even been able to make the boring moments of shopping and wandering around into some of the best memories.
I've been thinking about our situation as friends lately. I've been questioning if that's what I really want. And I've come to the conclusion that it isn't. Over the last three years I've made a subconcious effort to ensure that I'm never able to feel the same things with anyone else that I'm able to feel with you. I've locked the door to myself with a key I gave you three years ago.
So I went back to that place yesterday. I went to the mall to walk around and get some thinking done. I walked past a clothes store and imagined how beautiful you'd look in a little dark gray and red dress with your hair up and a pair of Jackie O glasses. I'd love to see you with your hair up sometime soon, I think you'd be so beautiful. I wanted to take you shopping and take pictures of you dressed up so I could show people what a awesome friend I have.
But I don't want to be your friend anymore, Lizz. I realized then that I couldn't go anywhere with Mallory tonight. It felt like I would be unfaithful to your spirit, wheather I told you how I felt or not.
I had decided to skip the night out with the guys; I needed to see you. I don't think I would have mentioned anything to you about how I was feeling, but I just needed to see you. I went to Clarks Hill, Lawrence Street[the places she works], and even to your place, where I had an extremely awkward time trying to communicate to your roommate who would come no closer to your door than the top of the steps. Then I drove around the streets near Lifeline hoping to find you walking home.
But I didn't find you. So I went home and gave Whitney a call. I figured I could put all of this out of my mind with a night out with the guys. Turns out you were there with them. I raced as fast as I could to get there, only to be disappointed upon arriving.
The first thing I noticed when I walked in was you sitting there with another guy. I wasn't particularly jealous of Sean, but he represented every guy in your life to me; he was Paul, he was Chris, and he was Nick. I couldn't look at you. How could I look at you? I don't think of any of those guys as worthy of you, but at least they've been able to give it a shot. I'm a coward, so I hid behind Dave.
I decided to go back to Paul's place. I wanted to completely forget about everything that had happened that night. It worked for a while, my mind was completely clear of any thoughts of you while I was there. But then I drove home and heard "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" on the radio and started to cry. I needed to be with you.
I came home with a courageous disregard for your input on the subject. I knew one thing: you needed to know how I felt. I couldn't possibly talk to you, though, I was drunk and stoned; my words would have been insufficient. So I made you a mixtape. A mixtape of everything I've been feeling these last few years.
And now I'm writing you this. Now that my words may carry some meaning. Now that I've been able to stand back and look at my actions of the previous night.
I completely stand behind them. I know that after getting that mixtape you'll never be able to look at me the same way again; we can't be friends anymore. I'd rather never see you again than spend another day as your friend.
I'm sure our next meeting will be much more awkward than any first, but I'd like you to think of it as just that. I want to go back to the beginning with you; I want to be able to hold you again and let you into every bit of me.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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