“We would be perfect together. And not just perfect like you see in the movies. Not the perfect that isn’t perfect six and a half years from now. It’s the perfect because you’re my best friend and you’ve been my best friend for longer than most people. We’ve been through a lot and I don’t pretend around you. There’s no pretending at all. If we were to date, we would be happy.”
“Stop being a dirty little slut and stop being that fake little B that I want to punch. You turned my best friend into your little minion. I’ma punch you right now. Okay? Okay.”
“Kiss me on the mouth. Right now.”
This list could go on, really.
I have an awful habit- problem more than habit- of not being able to say what I think. Maybe it’s from years of getting shot down when I did. I don’t know. Motivation doesn’t matter in this case. Either way, I can’t say what I think so I write it down in my little notebook that also happens to be purple. Lots of letters to lots of people. Lots of letters that will never be sent.