Work Text:
Rody,
I don't understand what it is about you that captivates me so much. You're clumsy, socially inept, insufferably sappy, bad with your money, self sacrificial to a point of extremity, and culinary horror personified. You're like a wet sock given life in the most ungraceful way possible. I shouldn't care about you in the slightest; next to me, you're nothing.
and yet I do. I care about you so much. Keeping silent about it is eating me alive. Everything you do, everything you say, it's all so stupid yet charming at the same time. Your messy uniform that you barely have time to throw on every morning, the way you waste your time writing songs of hopeless romanticism with a guitar you've had for far too long, your idiotically radiant smile that you almost never put away; all of these details are insignificant from an analytical lens. But they still matter so much. The tiny details are what make you, Rody, so beautiful. You and your capacity to love is remarkable and inspiring. No one, man nor woman, has ever made me feel this intense of emotion. Your very existence is inherently artful in taste. You're a walking marvel of life. Somehow, every one is blind to that fact except me.
Yet every time I call your name, it seems you answer not out of desire, but rather obligation. You're one of the only people who has ever critiqued my food for being "emotionless." You're one of the only people that doesn't hold me in high respects due to my great feats. You look at me without the same compassion and spark you give others. You look at me without that wonder you did when we first met. You look at me like I'm just your boss. Nothing more. It's as if I'm the only person you have a particular distaste for. Which is ironic, considering you're the only person I have any particular regard or care for; besides myself of course.
You won't be given this letter, nor will you find it laying about, and I wouldn't dare mutter these words aloud. You'll never read these words, and you'll never know how I feel. That's for the better. This letter will be lost to time, and that's exactly what I want for it. Exactly what I want for these thoughts and feelings, too. I want these feelings to stop plaguing me with an obsession for a man I can't have. Life was simpler before they appeared, and I wish to go back.
For now, however, I suppose I'll just daydream about earning the admiration I hold for you reciprocated; daydream about my muse.
Begrudgingly loving regards,
~Vince