Maybe Chernobyl. Yeah, they’d fit right along in that freak show.
I mean, seriously. . . *shakes head at self* Don’t—Just don’t code-name your crush The Drooling Puppy, okay? You can’t take you seriously.
In To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, Lara Jean tells the object of her infatuation exactly what’s on her heart in a letter she’ll never send. With ink bled and tears shed, she’s able to stow it away where he’ll never read it, and she’ll never feel it. . . again.
My letters are for when I don’t want to be in love anymore. They’re for good-bye. Because after I write in my letter, I’m not longer consumed by my all-consuming love… My letters set me free. Or at least they’re supposed to. – Jenny Han, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before
Let’s hope she’s right, Drooling Puppy.
Because I have loved you for. . . One, two, skip a few—Too long. Too long and then some. In that time, there have been telepathic messages sent across the room. Plots of “chance” meetings. Even introductions.
In fact, we have met three times. First name, last name, handshake. The whole she-bang.
A mutual friend orchestrated the first.
Coincidence, the second.
But it was all you on the third, and yet it was none.
No recognition. No have we met before? question in your eyes. Nothing. And for some reason, I was surprised.
You shook my hand, told me your name, and waited for mine.
Stupid. Pathetic. Forgettable.
If you want to know, that’s how I broke my own heart. At that point, who cared if you didn’t recognize me? I didn’t recognize me.
When I write, I hold nothing back. I write like he’ll never read it. Because he never will. Every secret thought, every careful observation, everything I’ve saved up inside me, I put it all in the letter. When I’m done, I seal it, I address it, and then I put it in my teal hatbox.– Jenny Han, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before
Since that little revelation, I’ve had a more of a fight getting over myself than you. Although your memory still surfaces. Sometimes. The way you talked with your hands. They way you opened a package of snacks with your teeth. Or gripped the nape of your hoodie and pulled it over your head and off the way guys do.
It was everything you did and nothing that made me fall in stupid, pathetic, forgettable love.
So truly, Drooling Puppy, thank you for the nothing. It’s meant everything to be myself once more.
Have you ever met a crush? How did it go?
Reflecting on past loves makes me think of future ones. If the same is true for you, consider an even better love letter. Read Dear Future Husband! Or view 7 Future Love Songs Better Than “Dear Future Husband” and write a letter of your own.