Musings and Tidbits

a love letter

I always knew that it was never me.

I was never the crush someone was secretly pining over, who was ridiculously beautiful and sensual without trying; the girl you'd stare at first because you thought she was attractive, and then because you thought she was more than that, and then because you loved her; the girl who found solace in the fact that someone loved her for herself.

I was never the daughter I suspected my parents wanted me to be; the girl who was en route to a medical degree with a high-paying offer in her back pocket; the girl who knew what to say and how to act to make the strangers who were never important until they were happy with her; the girl who followed all the simple, simple rules that were installed for her.

I was never the person I wanted to be; the girl who knew exactly what she wanted, or how to begin with knowing; the girl who had an internal foundation to fall back onto when she'd feel down; the girl who had enough feelings for herself and only sympathy for others.

So when you picked me, I was confused. I was angry. I was stunned.

How could you? Did you think that there was something wrong with me? Because I knew there was, and I knew I should fix it, but I didn't want you to know.

And I'm more mad at you than anything else. Why couldn't you let me wallow in what I thought was true and leave me be? I know I shouldn't feel this, but it gives me a strange warmth reinforcing what I know is true.

Because it's never me, and I want to keep it that way.

Or is it because it's never me, and I want to change?