insomnia.

Dear You,
Sometimes I think I act like some kind of pseudo-psychologist- know -it -all deeper than the ocean -star crossed lover -big picture thinker -creative soul- kitchen sink astrologer -with daddy issues -who over stays her welcome.
I'm insecure, and I'm naive, and I give it all away up front. I talk during movies and know endless amounts of useless trivia. In short, I am annoying. I am that sappy eyed puppy child that follows all the cool kids around.
I am the best friend who falls in love with you, but keeps quiet as I help you pick out something nice for your girlfriend on valentines day. I am the kind of girl who actually thinks a letter like this one could really change someone's mind. I wonder how many of my memories of you are just my own fantasies mulled over a million ways
and projected onto every surface, reflected and refracted off your eyeballs into mine, so that I think they're reality.
you were the foreman of my heart but your burnt the blue prints and quit the project ("I can't work in these kind of conditions") But I kept working overtime, doing your job, I'm breaking my own heart now so that you don't have to get stressed out over that too. you are the proverbial charming trouble maker loved by school girls and teachers and mothers alike. it's like Tyler Durden taking Peter Pan's Wendy out for a milkshake. one glass, two straws.
but I didn't feel stupid around you. I didn't feel the girl in the "before" picture. I didn't feel like a square -wet blanket -sissy tattle- tale -brace-face -cry-baby. I know you don't kiss all the girls like that. or maybe you do. maybe I don't give a shit either way (she tried to say with conviction but the stupid little heart on her sleeve gave her away) I know when you dream, you dream of yourself but better, and not an asshole.I wonder if you lay around naked eating cereal and laughing hysterically with all the girls. I wonder if you hand select the records you are going to play for them, or is it only for the girls that have record players? I wonder if a bottle of whiskey and chinese takeaway is just your "go-to" date when you can't think of anything creative to do. I wonder if you always inch your hand towards theirs under the covers after a fight as your silent way of saying sorry. I wonder if you tell all the girls that "right now you just wanted to hold them as tightly as you could." I wonder if they all have nicknames. I wonder if all of them let you fuck them in their kitchens and bathrooms and in cars parked next to that apartment complex, and on trampolines or beach towels in the garden. I wonder if they all know how wonderful you really are. I wonder if I was special, but for the first time in my life not because my daddy ran away and boys wouldn't look at me that way and I never got asked to dance and my ipod didn't have cool music on it and I laughed too loud and didn't wear thong underwear and I was scared we would get in trouble and I gave it all away up front and I talked during the movie and I was always embarrassed or hurt or worried and I need you to tell me that I'm pretty and funny and witty and smart and great in bed and a fantastic dancer and that I "get" you and it's me and you against the world and we talk like were in a woody allen film and the soundtrack sounds like garden state and that you run through the airport and say "oh my god, I love you like no one has ever loved you or will love you and whatever you do please don't get on that plane because I can't sleep can't eat can't breathe without you I think you're the one let's get fucking married." I want to know if I was special so that I can get a good nights sleep and say yes when other men ask me out to dinner. I want to know because the unknown hurts more than the truth. I wonder if I'll ever sleep.

love always,
me.