I am learning you are not as perfect as I made you out to be. You are a scattered mosaic of all flaws that frustrate me beyond all means and makes me want to hold you closer. I am not the only one of us who needs looking after. You wanted to wrap me up in your tightest of tight holds and keep me safe and keep me innocent. You wanted to save me from the wicked witch of the past, and the bogeyman with clammy hands. You and I aren’t so different, something in your eyes tells me you’d like to be saved yourself. You and I are a lot of talk. You and I are frightened the same way, reaching for each other in the dark where there’s nothing so light as the way we laugh, about us. You and I are running away. And you are just a kid, like me.
Somewhere where head meets heart I had idolised you way up on this perfect little pedestal; just right for me to sit at your feet adoringly, all wide-eyed in your direction. Sooner or later you were going to fall, and the not-so-perfect parts of you started to break/break through and rebuild in to you. You are just a boy. I am drawn to the off cuts of you, stutter and arrogance and ratty hair. That tiny spark in your eyes that looks a little off balance/like you. A little scared that although you’ll never admit it, you might not always have the right answer. I wonder (and this wonder wavers near my very own fearful spark) if you think that you are better than me. You are as big a mistake as I am Andrew. But it’s not bad, not always. It is interesting and a very good short story (since the influx of letters have stopped, the size of the book has had to be cut considerably). And it is a learning curve- THAT you taught me.
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