Dear Thomas, I Wanted to Be Your Girl

But I don’t know how to get there.

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

Dear Thomas,

I’m still embarrassed by the thought of you. I can’t believe you read what I wrote in a fit of hopeless pining for what could have been. You read the poison, you read the fluff of sugary sweetness, you read my dark descent into something like madness. I almost wish I had finished the letters just to see what you might have thought.

Did you judge me for any of it? Did you think, “What a strange girl”? And did you shake your head with the hint of a smile on your face? Did you imagine someone could feel so deeply for something you had created on a mere whim?

You always imagined yourself as an innovator, yet here was an instance where you did something for the money — and, lo and behold, you somehow found treasure. Madness, yes?

I don’t know when you started trailing my steps, but I’m glad for your support in the shadows. I still remember your advice and your care; you so want me to step out of my box and thrive. You were a shooting star I never expected to cross my galaxy. It’s strange, and it’s wonderful, and I wonder if this is how fate really works.

Or am I silly for thinking so? I don’t know.