Secunda.

Dear Mr. Mill,

This is my second letter in this blog for you (third, if I’ll have to count the letter I have written on a piece of paper). I saw you yesterday and I bet you saw me too. Matter of fact, you saw me first. I was not expecting that, you see. I knew that what we had talked about days ago about the greeting each other in public is once again wishful thinking. I find this absurd to think, but I feel that you just said that words to make me feel better. Rejection is the last thing in my list, I thought you figured.

Today is the second day that I haven’t sent any short message to you. I have been in this situation before. And if I haven’t mentioned, I once felt this thing for you two years ago to a guy who could never return the favor. Somehow, I see you in him. Both of you are just too good to be true and that you should just stay untouched or else you’ll break. I am no expert in holding myself together in times of desperation, you must know. So it’s not easy to hold back the urge to just send you a message for the day to see if you’re doing good or just try to start a meaningful conversation. But I’m trying my best to.

It’s hard to imagine what I’m going to do once you’re out of the picture, or once you go unnoticed. It’s been habit thinking about you every now and then when I’m breaking into tiny little pieces. But just so you know, I took the hint when you stopped responding to my messages two days ago. It pains me to realize how you could possibly do that when I have briefed you as to how broken I am that night. Not that you have any responsibility over me, but just an act of courtesy on your part. I might not have sent you a message asking you if you’re still awake and you manage to be curious enough to ask me in return if there’s something wrong. The response that “there is” should be a starting point. And again, not that I’m begging you to say something kind to me, but just to listen and let me know that I’m not alone. Because in being alone comes the breaking into tiny little pieces.

So Mr. Mill, wherever we are in this one sided friendship, I’ll just try to adjust. From this point forward, I will try to understand that this has started in the wrong time and place, and that I could have done better than striking up a conversation you’re not even interested in. Ciao.