Chapter Text
Dear Logan,
Last Thursday marks the day that I became crazy.
First of all, I am in love with you.
No, that’s not the crazy part. It’s the most sane, logical conclusion to basically everything that’s ever happened since the beginning of time, and I mean that.
Let me apologize beforehand, because I am gonna be maybe, definitely, too honest here.
If anyone accuses me of liking violence I will hit that person with my car. But seriously…I really didn’t think I did, I saw what you did to Piz and I was livid and 0% turned on (bear with me), but then one day you threw bloody Gorya Sorokin at my feet, and I haven’t been the same.
I hope you’re still reading this. I swear it’s not just that you were so sexy to me in that moment. I’ve BEEN in love with you, in a real way, but also in a fearful, incidental, faithless way, since junior high up to Thursday.
On Thursday I went crazy, then I stopped and thought “Huh. Am I a bad person?” Do I LIKE violence, like, in THAT way? One day later, after wiping my search history in relief, I stopped and thought “Huh. Am I a bad person?” because maybe what I liked was that you were willing to humiliate a dangerous person for me. That it was an ego trip for me.
I think I’m messed up, and it’s a real possibility. But…
But I’ll just say, if it was an ego trip, big guy came back from the Bahamas in a cargo plane, completely broke and missing precious organs.
All that I’ve been feeling is tremendous gratitude.
I’ve been careless with you, and a coward. I’ve assumed and doubted and ignored and ran for the hills and accused you of horrible things so many times. It wasn’t the violence, it wasn’t my ego, I don’t want you to get into any more fights (if you don’t have to), but this long moment from Thursday to yesterday was me realizing how truly bonkers it is that I still got you in my corner. That’s the crazy part.
Everything else is crystal clear. In fact, I’ve never been more lucid.
Look, I’m not asking you to give me another chance, although that would be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Not to waste this rare moment of sanity, let me shoot myself on the foot real quick—you probably shouldn’t. I’m starting to think I’m not that great of a catch. All the difficulty is unwarranted. If there’s anyone in the world I will change for, it’s you—but you of all people shouldn’t have to wait until I’m there. And it’s not because of all the bad things that have happened to you, but all the good that you have inside despite them. You could waste years of your life.
So I’m just here to formally state my devotion, for whatever and I do mean whatever, you think it’s worth. Here it goes:
Logan, I love you with every cell, every breath, every thought, every material thing that I possess; I admire you through every beautiful sight on which I rest my eyes, in every space I occupy, and I love you with every dingy clot of clay that I’ve hoarded over the years, and the ones that I will keep stealing from the people that I like. Through each drip of coffee, each grain of rice, each hair turning white, each word that I write. When I’m eating my dad’s food, when Wallace’s planes fly out of Neptune, when Lilly makes me laugh, when Lilly makes me cry, when Backup takes me for a walk, when it’s been decades since we’ve talked, when I’m dying, when I’m not even thinking about you—I’m thinking about you.
It’s so strange. I’m sure that by tomorrow, everything I wrote here will be a wild understatement, just like how much I liked you yesterday is so little compared to how much I like you now. I’d think it’s not normal if it wasn’t exactly what Elvis wrote. I mean, I don't know if he wrote it, maybe not. His poet, if you will. You know what song I’m talking about, right? I don’t even know if you like Elvis. I know so much less about you than I wish to.
So second of all, Logan, I am in love with you. And it’s not a state of being, it’s a character trait. “Veronica Mars, you know—the one who’s short, blonde, and in love with Logan Echolls?” (and then that wouldn’t narrow things down much, and then they would have to add that each day she resembles more the town’s middle aged ex-sheriff.)
Bottom line, too long didn’t read…if you ever, ever need me, for whatever reason, call. I will pick up like my life depends on it, today, tomorrow, if all I have to offer is my death rattle, I’ll pick up. Except if what you need is my two kidneys, one of them is for Wallace…I haven’t promised the other one to my dad yet, so it’s up for grabs.
I am being serious, by the way.
Yours (truly),
Veronica