A Letter I'll Never Send

Dear J.D.B.,

I cannot say that what I did to screw up our friendship was not stupid. I cannot say that I can think of a reason that can fully apologize for my mistake. I cannot say that I don't regret it. I hate that it screwed up our friendship, I wish I could find you so I can apologize, and it's the one thing in my life that I regret.

I live with a notion that every action we take is extremely important. Every misstep, mistake, and misunderstanding leaves us to pick up the pieces. Every bad idea is one more chance to learn. This is the only thing I can look back on that I regret. Yes, I regret not voting for Danny Noriega a lot more in American Idol so he would've had a fair chance, but I regret this millions of times more. Danny Noriega didn't affect my life. You did.

Everyone always said they hated you. Everyone always complained that you were unfair, unorganized, and inappropriate. I agreed with the first two fully, but I don't think you were inappropriate. You simply wanted a connection with us, so when you told us that we were in your dreams, we construed it as creepy but you us wanted to know that we were there. Dreams are simply you're mind's way of sorting things out, not your mind showing you your deepest desires. So the dreams were not creepy, just there. It's as simple as that. They were there.

And guess what, man? Breaking Dawn, the fourth book in the Twilight Saga that you so despised, is coming out tonight. I will be there at the party, and as I read and reread it, I will most likely think of you. Would you have heard the ending to this one thousands of times as well? Would you have been sick of it even though you'd never read it?

I've got to say that I wish I could see you again. While I know this is irrational and, above all, impossible, but I wish things had gone differently. I wish I was not a fifteen-year-old prone to peer pressure. I wish I could change what I did so everything would be okay.

But I don't think I'll ever be able to find you. And even if I do, will you still speak to me? Will you accept my apology? Will you feel too awkward to even try to forge a relationship?

You left without word. So this is my word, my explosion of inner thoughts and feelings that will forever be contained beneath a calm mask of composure. This is me. And I'm sorry 'me' screwed up.

<3
Alyson May