To He Who Shall Not be Named Because He'd be Mad at me. Again.

Dear ----,

I dreamt of being seventeen last night. It was so real. I could tell that teenage me was looking for you.

Rebellion for teenage me was being almost late to class because seeing you for four out of five passing minutes, always, was more valuable then being in my seat extra early.

The older I get, the more I realize what our teenage relationship taught me. Loneliness, annoyance and that I generally have a lack of patience or ability to separate my own logic to another's decision making.

See I'm still annoyed that you'd get caught smoking at school. I'm still mad at ----- for giving you cigarettes and I'm still made that ------- was your confidant despite his clear psychological issues!

Youth is terrible. It's this horrible time that we learn to lock away. The moment we get a peak into the teenage box... it all floods back. It's a dull ache that can't fully manifest anymore though. We're too old, our emotions too dull from experience to truly ever feel that deluge of the first time.

I accept the dull ache, I am thankful to be less susceptible to the past.

Some how though your voice is still there in the box, clear as a day.

Sticker burs in my hand and sweaters. Old Spice still makes me turn to see if you're there.

There's a lot I don't miss. But I do miss talking about everything with you. Even though now I realize your teenage humor is my biggest annoyance with pop culture these days. (I swear to someone's god the next time we speak if you quote Super Troopers I will strangle a cat).

The point is you helped define me in a way that can be seen everyday and that's kind of cool when you think about it. I may have some dull and dusty residual sadness but it's still important to me that we happened. Sugar is my favorite. See? Ruined.

Anyway there's probably some Van Wilder quote that could wrap this up nicely, but let's not abuse the memory of how we felt about Ryan Reynolds (Which we should re-evaluate these days).

Back to adulthood.

-Blai.

PS. What the fuck I wrote you a letter.

PSS. I hope you see it.

Post note: I actually did get up and write this letter. I should be doing homework but that dream was busy destroying my mind scape this morning. I guess I could have just made coffee instead of writing. This person and I used to write letters to each other a lot as teenagers. It felt right to do it this way. For some reason I wanted to share it. There's a million more things I could say but I wanted to take a stab at writing in my teenage style. As you see it's still pretty similar. Humor as deflection and personal references only me and the intended audience would know (assuming they remember of course). Oh man do I have a lot to apologize for too. Maybe I'll save that for another letter, but it's not something I'd share.