The Dreamer ✓

Letter 02

NO. 2 ; A LETTER TO YOUR CRUSH 

DECEMBER 2nd, 2013

Dear James,

James. James. James. James.

It's thanks to you that I like that name so much. I'm infatuated with it. Despite what others say, it's not at all boring. It's the epitome of elegance and class.  I like how it sounds on my tongue, how easily it rolls off, leaving behind a slight shudder. It suits you and I simply can't imagine you with another name.

James Baxter. There, I wrote your full name. I might as well, nobody else but me is going to see these letters. No one ever will because I fully intend on either ;

a) burning these letters to ground.

b) burying them deep in the earth.

Or c) locking them away, far away.

You probably already know this, word travels fast in our school but I like you. There. I said it, well wrote it, I fancy the pants off you James Baxter and I wish I had the balls to tell you in person.

Now, James, here's a question I've been asking myself for God's know how long. Why you? Why do I like you? I mean, there are much cuter guys (not that I stand a chance with any of them, but still) and I just don't understand why it has to be you. Can I just say, you can be a right prick to me? Just last week you punched me in the shoulder because I apparently tried to copy one of your answers. (I was just stretching my arms, with no intention of doing such a thing) And how about yesterday when you shoved me so hard I nearly fell. Admittedly, you did catch me before I hit the ground, but still.

To be honest, I am a prick to you too. I punch you and insult you but that's only because I like you so much. And I could just laugh at how juvenile my crush on you is and I could laugh until I die at how immature my handling of it is. It's just a crush. Nothing more. It'll pass like all the others but here's the problem. I don't want it too. I like how you make me feel James. I like the butterflies and the quickening heartbeats. I like having your name, your face, your voice running around in my head, all day, every day. I love that you occupy my thoughts because if you didn't something darker and twisted would be plaguing my mind.

I'll never tell you this. I'd sooner jump off a cliff than admit this to you but...you have nice eyes. They're coloured a light olive green that turns gold in the sunlight and its honestly breathtaking. You don't have the best eyes in our year.

That award goes to Kyle Witter with his bright blue eyes, but he's a dick and he pisses me off. But your eyes are my favourite. And your stupid messy blonde hair. Don't you own a comb? Most of the boys' hair are neat and brushed but yours is always in disarray and I always want to run my hands through it.

I almost did.

A few weeks ago in Biology when we were partnered up and you were tying your apron, your hair was falling in your eyes and I had this sudden urge to push it back and rake my hands through that blonde mess of hair. I nearly did you know, my hand was just a few inches from your head when you suddenly looked up and I had to quickly withdraw my hand. I had to make it look like I was swatting a fly away and you just watched, slightly bemused.

You patted my arm (like I was one of your mates) and you made some stupid joke about my incompetence and I didn't know whether to kick you or kiss you (always the latter).