Today, I'm writing a letter.
Dear Ms. Schultz,
I love you. I don't want this to be weird, I'm not a lesbian. I don't have amorous intentions towards you. But I love you, anyway. I love everyone like most only love in reserve, romantically. My whole heart and soul scours the world, every day, every moment, every breath and pulse... but none of that matters when I'm hurt. When I'm hurt, all of that world hurts, all the breaths and pulses come around me like water when one is drowning.
When things happen like that, they happen in the blink of an eye. Because I know the heart-songs of so many, I feel the anguish twice as much. You do not blink, Ms. Schultz. I love you so much, and I would do so much for even a glimpse of respect from your heart. I want you to realize how wonderful you are to us. A lot of us, but especially me, would do anything to protect you... but there's not a lot we can do when you're hurt.
You hurt me. I've spent the last year trying to be myself and found love for it, but when I'm with the play kids--and especially you--every word I say is wrong, and my every gesture reeks of awkward. I try so hard to fit in, and you correct me for trying to fit in. You mean to fix me. You mean to... FIX... me. Do you have any idea how much that hurts me? How much I envy people like Hannah Nathan or Kate Murley or Conner Staples or even Katie-bird, who have your respect? Your trust?
Do you have any idea how much it hurt me that you once gave me an award for being like Betsy Larson, only to later tell me you hate her? She has no respect for you? She bitches about you? She has no courage to speak to your face? ...That you don't like her at all?
Why?
Why me?
Don't you understand? I love you. I want to make you happy, I want to be your friend, and... and I'm invisible to you. I go to play practice and you ask me why my face is timid and my voice soft? That's why. I don't belong there. A lot of people are kind to me, but none of that matters if it is merely a gentle tolerance that they could offer any man upon a street. I'd die for them--for any of them, for you, for your mother if you asked me. If you gave me your social security number, I'd burn it and buy you ice cream.
I have an unyielding loyalty and devotion. You've made me cry three times this year alone, and I come to rehearsal the next day, or set construction or whatever the hell it is, and I offer you my heart.. and you take it. And then you set it on a shelf, and you forget it. You stamp on it when it suits you, but you can still keep it. It's yours. I want to help you. I want to make your heart stop hurting.... and I want you to trust me.
It won't happen. You see, you'll never read this. You don't want to know my heart, and I don't blame you. I don't blame you for not trusting me, either, since Kate Murley thinks I"m a liar. A lot of people probably think I'm a liar. I can ask you to stop hurting me, but as I've written, your eyes make me invisible. I am invisible to you... you don't even notice me enough to hurt me. No, not even enough to do that.
So I'm sorry I'm awkward. I'm sorry I embarrass you, and try to share my books with you that I love, the music I love... me in general. You've made it clear you do not want to be my friend, that I do not understand you on the complex level you allow others... no matter how much I wish things were different? They aren't. Dalton still grimaces when he has to hold my hand. You'll never know how much drama I save you, or how I pray for your heart every night.
As for Finley, I do not appreciate your insinuations. I'm not saying our relationship is perfect, but I do not appreciate this.... this... mockery of every time he takes my hand to smile at me. He's kind to me. He makes me human again... and you laugh at me while degrading him. I don't... I don't deserve that. You don't have to approve of our relationship and the direction its headed, but I do deserve respect from you. And so... so does my future husband.
Because I haven't told you about how Adam cheated on me, or what... what happened to Ryan. I haven't told you anything. I'm sorry you won't listen, because sometimes... sometimes I do have a beautiful heart.
So I'm writing this. A harmless letter filled with harmful words. Please be happy for yourself. Please? It's all I've ever really wanted for you.... to realize how beautiful you are.
You are to me.
Your invisible freak,
Payton
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