Edited by: Stuti Sharma
Why would you ever kiss me?
I’m not even half as pretty
You gave her your sweater, it’s just polyester
But you like her better
Wish I were Heather
“You have reached voicemail recording services, leave your message at the tone”
I love you, but not quite as much as I hate myself for doing so.
You’re my Heather, you’re the most flawless being on this planet, you keep me in awe and brighten my world every time you step into a room with me. Oh! What am I in front of you? They know, they talk, I hear whispers. “How did he bag her??” How did I indeed? I spend half my days wondering whether it’s all a sick prank you’re playing on me, and the rest of it, trying to live up to you, failing miserably in the attempt. The worst part about being with the perfect person is how imperfect you seem in front of them. Do you not notice how my corner darkens when your light fills the room? Do you not notice how the butterflies that stick to me flutter around towards you as soon as you walk in? Do you not notice me hating myself every time we click a picture? Do you not notice how your perfections bring out all my insecurities? Do you not? Of course not. I’m beautiful, you say, but how can I believe it when you’re just the nicest person ever? Why can’t you be mean? Why can’t you be mad? Why can’t you be me? I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault, it never is. I’m sorry I’m not perfect, I’m sorry if I never am, and I’m sorry if it’s my fault, like it always is. Don’t get me wrong, I love you for being perfect, but I hate how scared it makes me, of never being enough, of pushing you away, of losing you, my only glimpse at perfection in this lifetime. I wish I could turn back time, I wish I could stop myself from ever meeting you, and I hope that once you leave me, I’ll still be able to love others without noticing how they could never compare to you.
You’re perfect, we’re perfect, and I love you, but only until I don’t anymore, and I would hate for us to get to that point.
So yeah, I love you Heather, but not quite as much as I hate myself for doing so.
Maybe someday I’ll have the courage to actually send you this voice note, but I think I’m going to hold on to it for a while. I could just walk over to your room right now, I know you’re in there working, but only if I had the guts you did. After all, I wouldn’t want to be the complaining one all the time. I guess I’ll just see you later then, bye.
“your voicemail has been deleted”
(In the other room)
I am writing this letter to tell you that I’m not who you think I am, and I never was.
I love you for seeing perfection in me but I’m not perfect. I have my flaws. Is it my fault you never saw them? I’m sorry I know it isn’t yours, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep up with being the person you think I am. I want to be perfect, I want to be enough, I want to meet your expectations, but it’s hard. I want to be the one to put every smile on your face, I want to be there for you every time you’re down, I want to be able to light up your world every time we meet, but it’s hard. It doesn’t matter what others think of us, you’ve always been enough for me, and I’m glad we’re together, but I don’t think I can keep this up much longer. It hurts when I can’t make you happy, it hurts when I’m not the one to make you laugh, and it hurts when I see the look of disappointment on your face. I’m scared. I’m scared to show you my scars. I’m scared that if you’ve thought of me as a perfect sculpture for so long, you’ll leave at the first flaw you find. But most of all, I’m scared you’ll see me for who I really am and hate me for it.
I’m just tired honey, it’s so exhausting. I don’t care as long as you’re happy, but how long would that even last? There’s either going to be a point where you’ll see through my facades or I’ll start hating you for expecting so much from me. I’m afraid we’re in a sinking ship, but at least there’s this quiet understanding that we’re sinking together. There’s a certain calmness I feel through it. Maybe you don’t know it yet, or you do and you’re just afraid to admit it.
Someday I might just have the courage to give you this letter, but not today. I can hear you in the other room talking to someone I think, and I don’t want to spoil your day.