In the spirit of P.S. I Still Love You coming out on Netflix this month, I decided to take a page out of Lara Jean’s book and write post-its to all the boys I kinda…sorta…maybe liked before. Unlike Lara Jean, I’m allowing the letters to get out.
B,
You were the first of them all. With moms as high school friends who had kids at the same time, we were destined to become close. I don’t remember much of our time together considering we were still in the playpen, but I know we were around each other so much that I even had a nickname for your mom — one that only I was allowed to use (and vice versa). Even if our time was short as childhood friends, the photos are cute, and I still have the distinct memory of you almost always letting me choose which imaginary game we would play.
N,
I dreamed that we would have a story about meeting in elementary school and surviving through high school…and whatever crazy stuff happens after that. It was a schoolyard crush, nothing more. But when we got assigned back-to-back seats and you would tell me all of your class-clown jokes in the middle of our teacher’s lessons, my little seven-year-old heart jumped.
C,
Now this one was for real — the most real and violent butterflies my young self had ever experienced up to that point in my life. When I saw you for the first time, I knew that we were really, honestly and truly meant to be a part of each other’s story. I had to ask my friend (or my “wing woman”) who you were. It was such a genuine friendship that blossomed into my first real relationship. When you asked me to be your girlfriend, my heart skipped a beat. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Little things, like holding hands or driving in the car together and singing songs, were exciting — everything was new and full of possibilities. Just being with you and sharing your company was exhilarating. You taught me exactly how I should be treated by a boy, and you respected my worth as an individual and someone to go through life with. Even at the end, however heartbreaking it was, I learned what I needed to work on within myself and in any future relationship. They were two of the most valuable life lessons I’ve ever received, and I cannot thank you enough for it.
M,
Oh, where to begin. After the end of life lessons one and two, I was adamant — I would not get into another relationship before going off to college. You sat three seats behind me in statistics and needed to store your textbook in a locker before you missed your ride. Gosh, you were so awkward and goofy and helpless, so I gave you three seconds before I closed my locker. In March, I told my friend not to set me up with anyone for prom — she did, but I’m not one to complain when a cute boy asks me out “just as friends, though.” I even made it through prom night without kinda, sorta, maybe liking you. But I didn’t make it through summer. That summer you were a dream, pulling up to my house in the middle of the night in your blue car — the one I had called permanent shotgun in, and the one you insisted on driving me everywhere in. When you stood by the front of your car and said my name how only you could and asked me to be your girlfriend, my heart sank. Because how could I say no? But I did, because you were leaving in a month, and I knew it would break me. You said, “Can’t blame me for trying.” No, I could never blame you.
To all of you,
Thank you. Thank you for growing with me in whatever crazy stage of life we were in. Thank you for meeting me where I was and helping me to grow for the better. You never made me feel like I was less than; I was just someone that you wanted to laugh with, confide in, and also kinda, sorta, maybe like back.
All the best,
Stevie/Stephanie/SJ/Stevie Jo/Wigles