Scars

Another addition to Dear Joe..

Scars

    Did you mean what you said? Were you just being you? When you called me beautiful, did you mean it?

    Now I’m confused, trying to work through this. Should I tell you how I feel? I’m pretty bad at this. I guess I’m afraid of rejection.

    Years of bullying can do that to a girl. Can do that to anyone.

    It doesn’t matter how many times I’m told. I’ll never feel beautiful. A dozen compliments can’t erase a thousand jibes. A thousand reminders that I’m not perfect, that I’m not the prettiest girl, the ideal girl.

    So did you really mean it when you called me beautiful?

    I hardly feel like I know anything anymore.

    I know a few things for sure, though.

    I felt something when you flashed that crooked smile.

    I felt my heart leap when you hugged me.

    I felt a rush when I was near you.

    I felt like I was flying when you said I was beautiful.

    This fills my mind every hour, every minute, every second of every day. Turning it over in my mind, replaying every moment with you, searching for something, anything, that would give me a hint about you.

    Sometimes there are temporary distractions, when I get so caught up in moments that I forget about you momentarily. Then things slow down again, and you’re there, filling every thought and coaxing every emotion from my heart.

    You’re the first boy to make me feel like this. The first to call me beautiful. The first to make me laugh out of the pure joy of being around you, then cry myself to sleep the same night knowing that you’d never want me. I know I could never say anything to you. I wouldn’t want things to get awkward, I don’t want to loose you as a friend because of my reckless heart.

    Being next to you today, just talking to you, I was instantly in a good mood. For those few short moments, those quick words, that short walk, I was flying. I couldn’t see anyone else, I couldn’t hear anyone but you. It’s like a drug. Getting high off of love. It’s exactly what I’m doing. My drug isn’t material, it’s not something that can be bought. It’s conversation, music, contact, closeness, you.

    I finally understand every euphemism, every romance story, every love song, every mad act of love. I was once told, “Don’t go after somebody until you know you’re in love. Completely crazy about them. Until you’re so crazy about a person, you’d do anything for them, go anywhere with them, and forgive anything they would ever do. Yeah, that crazy.”

    I am that crazy. I really am.

Love, Julia