Princess Fail and other Things.

Before I write anything else, I want to credit Amani for the idea I'm using in this post (i.e. unnamed letters to people in my life). What she wrote was beautiful, heartfelt, and -I felt like writing this in a comment box was too dorky- totally made me choke up. So... here's looking at you, kid. As she said before me, you may know what I'm writing about, you may not, and it just might be about you. Who knows?

To you:

I am always the one who gets to be mad. Why don't you- What makes you angry? I feel like I'm the one who gets to indulge in her selfishness, and then we can joke about this up to a certain point, but I want you to get angry for once. At me. Or at him. I want you to be happy so badly. Not pining for someone who will never again, in my eyes, be worth your while. I want to be your Italian mother who makes you eat a lot of spaghetti and wants you to marry that nice boy from across the street.

To you:

Everyday, I swear to God, I think about walking right over to you and kissing you. But then I think about it, and about that fact that in real life, not everybody claps when the people get together, and frankly, I don't have any experience with this kissing thing, so I probably suck at it, and what if you don't even want to kiss me? So instead I sit down next to you and play the "are we friends or something more" game, and I can't even tell if I'm the only one playing. I have come up with about a hundred different ways to ask you out and they would all be really terrific in movies. Because I think we'd be the couple that everyone would root for in a movie.

To you:

I am jealous every time he hugs you. You are so damn funny, so damn creepy when you want to be, and I am so glad we ended up in the same boat. Literally and figuratively. Your life, your real life is so different from mine, though. I don't know it except in bits and pieces, but I guess I don't talk about my home life much either. Do I have white girl guilt? Maybe. Shoot, I don't know. And it's not really important, either, because we're friends because we're both silly, and so screw the rest, right? He told me he knew (about the thing), and I thought she had told him. I'm glad it was you instead.

To you:

You are one of my lifelines. Can I use a lot of weird and cheesy metaphors? You are my sherpa. God knows who I would have ended up with if we hadn't had to interview each other. You led me to a safe haven and now you are my Jeeves! But sometimes it shocks me how little you are tied down. I don't understand the concept of not knowing what you want to study, not because you can't choose between your favorite subjects, but because you don't know what your favorites are. And I want so badly to see you fall in love, because I feel like that would help me understand you better, because it makes a person a special type of silly, and you get to see me like that all the time. 

To you:

I have no idea how you ended up among us sometimes. You're a superhero and I want to know your origin story, because right now, all I know is your weakness. You are the magnificent embodiment of reason and I can't thank you enough for not letting me be taken to a mental institute. Because, seriously, I'm pretty sure that's where I would end up if you weren't around to stop us from overdosing on musicals. I wish we talked more. You're an enigma and I want to figure you out.

To you:

Who are you? Are you the embodiment of Austin, minus Sixth Street? You're a flower child way out of your decade, even if you won't admit it. It seems like you're hopelessly in love with everything, and determined to protect that which you love. I know I'm not your confidante these days, and I don't see as much of you as I did last year. And that sucks. I see you in love all the time, and I haven't gotten to the point where I understand it yet. It makes me giggle and it makes me want so desperately to save you the pain of some of it. Because some guys are douches, and I want you to be able to recognize them.

To you:

Please stop doing your homework three times a day. I miss you so much. We're like passing trains in the night; all I have time to do is compliment you on your fabulous dress (which seriously, you need to wear more often) and we're off to our different classes. I'd like to think that we do each other a lot of good, because you're the most Type A person I've ever met, and I'm sure I must drive you crazy, but I think we balance out a little. I mean, I've started really using my day planner, and you seem a little less panicked by grades that don't start with 1, have a 0 in the middle, and end with another 0. We need to talk so badly, I need to catch you up with things, and I want to hear what you have to say. 

TO BE CON'T?

More later, if I think of them (which I most assuredly will).