To The Boy In My Middle School French Class

I was probably the most cliche middle school girl the world has ever seen. I doodled your name on my notebook, I blushed when you entered the room, and I tripped over myself trying to be casual in your presence more times than I could count. You seemed so much cooler and wiser, and I was a bumbling mumbling freak.

It almost was a relief that you sat on the opposite side of the room. I could watch you from afar as you interacted with our classmates and your surroundings. You were quiet and reserved, but I knew that on the inside you had a big heart.

I walked into class one morning ready to mostly focus on the complexities of the French language, and our teacher surprised us with new assigned seats.

Naturally, you now had the pleasure of sitting next to a very flustered and slightly peeved fellow classmate who simply wanted to disappear.


C’est moi.

I carefully made my way to the other side of the room to sit next to you. You looked up at me then, cool, confident, obviously so sure of yourself and ready for anything.

I was concentrating on not throwing up.

You spoke to me then, and while I don’t remember exactly what it was now, I do remember how we became fast friends. As the years went by, we learned everything about each other. I learned that you weren’t always perfect and you learned that I wasn’t always so embarrassingly awkward.

I spent 7 years thinking of you every single night, and then I moved on.

Years later I broke up with my boyfriend. I went to your apartment and we talked and laughed and drank like the crazy best friends we always were. I stumbled around your apartment and talked about going home.

Hours later I woke up. Your face was in my hair and my hand was on your heart and my soul was on fire.

I rolled over and blearily looked up.

Your eyes met mine.

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