Once upon a time I thought I might be gay. That was okay, my friends were pretty cool with me being a potential lesbian and a lot angry and hung out with me to boy-watch and squealed in my ears about cute boys anyway.
Then one night I met you. You gorgeous pale little shit. I fell a little in love with you the moment I saw you. And then I proceeded to act all stupid and manly around you because I thought you might be gay and I basically hated your guts because I thought you weren’t manly enough.
Then one day one of my friends pointed out that you were actually kind of cute. And that smart was the new sexy. And I saw that they were kind of right, if you squinted, and I had to admit to myself that I actually liked you. A lot. You were kind of a pretty guy, if kinda dorky. But you were alright.
And then one Christmas there was a gift exchange thing going on and my code name was that I wanted a book. Literally, “I want a book.” And then I got this book. From you. What the fuck. Wow.
I wish you’d given me something like Eragon or that stuff you used to read yourself, not something you thought I might’ve liked. Maybe a Harry Potter book, I would’ve loved that. Or a Mythology book, even. I guess I should’ve been honest and said “Egyptology!” instead of just saying “Whatever.”
But as much as I came to hate Sparks’s guts and his sappy formulaic writing, I still have the card you wrote that came with the book. And I’m still kind of in love with you, you dork. You probably shouldn’t have hugged me that one time because I’m still not over that. Whoops.