Letter for my stranger

Bianca Rose

by Bianca Rose

Story

I’ll burn this letter, and I’ll write you a message, one that will actually reach you. I’m planning a “Welcome Home” party, and I’m selfish enough to invite you here, only to clear my blurry vision with the sight of you and pretend that I’m not noticing you at all. It’s such a dangerous game and I have the feeling that it will kill me in the end. I hope you’ll accept the invitation.

With hope,

The idiot who loves you


Dear Stranger,

Maybe I should stop calling you like that. Now you have my phone number and I don’t know what kind of miracle is that. When I saw the text signed with your name, I almost ran to my boyfriend and sharing with him my reason of happiness. Ha, yes. You can judge me if you want, but it’s not as it seems. Things got a little confusing, but as you said in your message, you will expect me and my boyfriend at your party and as you made it so clear, pointing and adding extra power on the word:”boyfriend” I couldn’t find the reason to waste you time for a stupid justification. I shouldn’t ruin your imagination with the sharpness of mine. The funny part is that I acted so shocked, even though the two of you actually know each other. I never expected an invitation from you. To be honest, I’m not used to get invitations. My reaction is similar with the one I have when someone is making me a compliment. Your invitation is a confirmation: that I’m cool and pretty enough to get your attention and be mentioned alongside your inner circle. I was ready to decline it, but your gorgeous face rose in the back of my mind. Sometimes I’m wondering what’s more difficult: to pretend to be in love with someone or to act like the one that you love doesn’t exist at all. You’ll think that I’ve already figured it out, and for a short time I guess I did. Months passing by with no news about you, your name on my lips stared to sound foreign. It was like you were a person who disappeared years ago and even tho the people where still remembering your name, your memory belonged to the past times. But one day, Nick, your best friend, mentioned your name out of the blue and I felt a sharp knife scraping the base of my throat. He didn’t say much, he was reminiscing about the troubles you got into when you were kids.

“I bet he’s not truly happy in that place, but he won’t come home because he is a stubborn idiot.” Nick said that with such clarity, and I’m ashamed to admit it, but a small piece of me, the irrational part of my brain, started to whisper words as I found myself talking out loud:

“You should call him and ask. It’s the only way to be sure.” I noticed Nick’s eyes getting wider, and I wanted to crawl under a rock, but Crystal supported my idea, making my sudden explosion to appear normal. Nick called you but you didn’t answer. You probably had a discussion after all, but nobody dared to ask about you or your reasons to leave the city. I never needed a reason. I was in the train station, solely as Crystal’s friend, not as yours. We didn’t own each other anything.


© Bianca Rose 2023-07-29

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Novels & Stories
Moods
Emotional
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