My Random Miniskirted Letter To You

How odd is it that I'm writing about this now? I feel that no matter how hard I try to just shrug it off, the thoughts persist, like weeds through cracked cement.

...I guess that even the tiniest things can break through stone.

I've been thinking about you when I know I shouldn't be. And inasmuch, as I would like to blame you in part, I think that it's probably about time that I take responsibility for my overactive imagination as well as my actions, or lack thereof.

He used to love it when I wore this miniskirt. And I took pride in actually being able to make a grown man want me so bad that it hurt... I grew complacent, knowing that he loved me more than I loved him. And now, though the miniskirt still fits, I doubt that it would actually have the same effect...

You remind me of him, a little bit. You remind me of a lot of people actually. You being the better version. The one that they probably wished they were.

I want to know how you feel... I speak many languages and understand even more, but I'm a terrible interpreter. My heart doesn't think. It just feels. And now, it's taking everything in me to stop it from feeling something until I know how your heart feels. Is that so bad? Me, wanting to base my feelings on yours? I'm fine with however this turns out, but of course, I want to love you. I do, it's just complicated. That's all. And that's why I need to know. I mean it's not terribly unreasonable, afterall, every action has a reaction. Me, feeling for you is a reaction to your actions towards me. It's the basis of the actions that I would like to know about. I know I'm making a mistake of assuming that they are an expression of you feeling for me. I could be wrong... In fact, I'm almost certain that I am.

...I just wish you'd surprise me and tell me that for once, I'm right. Right about this. Right about you. Right about love. Right about now.


As Always,
D.