by Ayla Starr
and me watching with a goofy grin on my face. Finally, when we were covered with glue and exhausted from research, you’d ask me if I wanted to watch some TV, maybe eat something. I would say yes without hesitation every time.
We’d sit on your couch, a bowl of popcorn between us, and exchange jokes and comments as MTV ran on. Occasionally, there’d be arguments that resulted in popcorn fights, our fingers touching, and our bodies closer than they’d been in years.
And then you’d say it softly, every single time; “Feels like old times, huh?”
I’d back away as if I’d been burned and scurry as far away as possible. It was like a game, this thing we did every day; the two of us coming closer, only to have me run away. Run like the coward I was.
But the fact was, I always came back; no matter what was said between us, how close our lips got, and how frightened I became.
I always came back.
The day we finished the project, you turned to me with a fake smile, your eyes twitching sadly.
“Finally done, huh?” You said.
The tears welled up in your eyes, and my chest collapsed. It was the first time I’d seen you be anything other than happy, and it made me angry. Looking back, I’m not sure why I felt like that. Maybe it was anger that I’d hurt you, anger that I couldn’t be with you, anger that I was too afraid to do anything, and anger that the moment had finally come.
With a deep breath, I pulled you to me forcefully, nearly crushing you in my grip. You cried into my chest, and I held you tightly, whispering with a broken voice how much I missed you, everything we had, everything we were, and all the things we could have been. And when we pulled away, you looked me in the eye.
“I won’t ask you to kiss me,” you said softly.
I could feel you clinging onto me tightly, as though I could disappear any second. All the past memories came flooding back, and I could only hold you closer.
“You don’t have to,” I answered.
Without another thought I pressed my lips against yours. And when you kissed me back, I wanted to press pause on that remote control, the one that controlled life. I wanted to pocket the moment and take it with me everywhere. But when I realized that was implausible, I continued to kiss you, and kept it up until our lips lost feeling, your knees gave out, and my fear returned.
When we pulled apart this time, my heart was pounding, my head was spinning, and you already looked heartbroken. The latter I couldn't stand, so I did the only thing I knew how to do, and ran. Ran until my legs collapsed.
The next few days were spent avoiding you, and those emerald eyes of yours. Whenever I thought about the kiss, my heart went racing along with my mind. But whenever I thought about my friends, and the relentless stories and rumors about you, my heart would break for the things that could never happen, the things I wouldn’t let happen. I was still the coward I’d always been. And I didn't know how to change.
All of that brings me to the present, only a few months after the kiss. Looking back, maybe it would have made more sense to start this off with ‘Dear Danny,' or 'Dear babe,' or something sentimental of that sort but, for whatever reason, I don't think it would have fit, at least not with us; definitely not with you. You’ve always encouraged individuality in every possible way. Maybe it’s about time I followed your lead.
I guess you could say that I'm writing to apologize, or even check up on you. A month ago, I heard about the beating at school. I don’t know what pushed them over the edge, but I heard it was bad; they’d broken a few of your bones, and no one outside of family was allowed to visit you at the hospital. One part of me wanted to find the guys who hurt you, and make them suffer through the same things you had, if not worse. But a larger part of me knew that you wouldn't want me to. So I kept everything inside, even my pain at not being allowed to see you. But honestly, I questioned myself whether or not you’d want to see me. After all, I kept deserting you, didn’t I?
A few days ago, I finally saw you again. But you weren’t yourself. Your blond hair was tied up, and you wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants. No glitter, no tiara, no bounce in your step. When I got home, I went through all the photos, all the memories…and I started crying. Not just with tears, but heavy sobs. Sobs that rocked through my body and shook my soul, breaking my resolve in the process. I cried until I felt empty, until I felt nothing. Eventually, I did feel empty, but the thing is, I still feel that way. That emptiness brings me to today; my real reason for writing.
I think you’ve forgotten who you are and what you stand for, and I needed to remind you; needed to let you know that I’m ready and willing to stand by your side, no matter the consequences. No more hiding and no more running, because I’ve realized that cowardice has gotten me nowhere, and it hasn’t gotten me what I want: you.
My god, all I want right now, and maybe ever, is you.
Right now, all I want is you and me, together, because together, we could build a wall so strong; no bullet could possibly penetrate it. And together, we could rebuild that relationship we once had, maybe make it even stronger.
Those shadows from the past will always remain, those wounds might not go away easily, but they didn’t steal your tiara, Danny. They didn’t steal your glitter, your jewels, and your light. They don’t have that power. No one does unless you, yourself, let them.
So all I’m saying is take that tiara back out, place it on your head, and prance around like a goddess. Paint your face, paint those pictures, paint the entire world if that’s what you want. Leave your colorful mark in this school, and together, we’ll wear our hearts on our sleeves and make the area explode with spouts of laughter.
I haven’t forgotten, Danny; about anything. So don’t you forget either, okay? And if you’re ready to take those first few steps forward, so am I. But it’ll have to be one step after the other.
A coward can’t handle too much at a time.
Happy Valentine's Day, Danny.
