letter #6: gloom

Miguel,

There is something about you and coffee that destabilizes my thoughts. And to think that I do not even like coffee, you know. It is not so much of the taste; it is more on the palpitating of my heart. Father warned me about coffee, I must not take too much of it. It is dark, its heavy, and its addictive. I fancy he must have been talking about you, too. You are so private, you are too much to take, and you are addictive. Like today, you are making me high in an insane, abnormal way. And I remember that story you had when you smoke more than usual amount of weed and how funny an experience it was for you. You told me you were laughing like a lunatic.

I am looking at you right now, Miguel, and I have a crazy idea. Am I some sort of weed for you? A drug you find convenient for daily doses of laughter anytime and anywhere you wanted and ignore on those times that you do not have a need of me? I am asking you this question because, you see, sometimes, I cannot understand how you are looking at this friendship of us. Most times, you are very predictable; and I wouldn’t have any problem or fear that we may have misunderstood each other. Other times, I do not seem to know you. It was like you have an entirely different version of yourself. You shut me out as easily as you lure me in. And in most cases that you do the former, I do not always understand what triggered it. You may not find me the most logical person you’ve met, but I noticed these inconsistencies, Miguel. And I do not understand them. So, please do not lecture me about logic and that it started with the Greeks. I know there is a difference and I know that it is between schools, and not between genders. I was just asking if you like my favorite kind of pizza for heaven’s sake. And yes, I do find it weird that you do not because you said you love pasta and pizza and pasta go together all the time.

Another thing, I am not forgetting that you are a guy, so do not slap that on my face, too. And there is no such thing as female logic, Miguel. There is something about you, more than about coffee now that destabilizes my thoughts. If these insults, friendly or otherwise, are not enough, you said, “Ah, yeah, before you starve and die of grief over not having pizza on your hands, why don’t you just call delivery service and order one? Life too short to wait for good moments, you should go and grab them while they’re here.”

God, I fucking hate you, Miguel. Do not lecture me about good moments and grabbing them while they are still on arm’s length. You do not know what good moments are even if they hit you on the head. I can be more than the kind of weed you are now treating me but you will never ever see that, Miguel, because you think too highly of yourself.

You found me looking at you blankly and you reached out and rumpled my hair. “Hey, chica, cheer up.”

You really do not see it, do you, Miguel?

author’s note: She might not have noticed it, but the touchy hands of possessiveness have started crawling into existence, muddling the boundaries of friendship. She has, unknown to her, already started to make demands, to make him fit into an idea that she has of a guy she want to fall in love with. And when frustrated, love turns to blind anger. She begins to realize she does not understand their friendship at all, in spite of the universal fact that friends do have fights one time or the other. She begins to feel that perhaps, it was all imaginary, that there was nothing between her and Miguel that is extraordinary. That every good thing that he is was nothing more but a projection that she built of him.
What she did not see coming, though, is that what she saw of Miguel, the two sides and the highs and lows, are real. It was her reaction to all these that are not.

letter #5: fear
letter #4: elation
letter #3: anticipation
letter #2: discovery
letter #1: birth

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