Pen to paper, sweating, stressing, pressing down the newly sharpened pencil so hard that I’m basically carving my words into this piece of notebook paper, with the edge still untorn. I am putting my entire heart into writing this letter, even though I know in the back of my mind that it’s going to go just as well as the last time. I have been putting off writing this out, because I knew that I would be too scared to even give it to him. This exact situation has happened so many times before, I finally tell the person I’ve had feelings for them, and they take it terribly. Trying to find anyone else here that is gay has been a struggle. It almost feels like an infinite barren desert populated only by me. Everyone says I should wait to find someone, make it more special, but seeing everyone around me finding someone makes me feel like I’m missing out, but finding anyone that I even have a chance with is basically hopeless. It’s basically a shot in the dark, an assumption at someone’s sexuality. Any time I try to make something work with someone, it never gets anywhere, because even if they are gay, I can’t blame them for not wanting to be open about it, it’s hard where we live. I finish my letter, and write “To: Someone I Know Won’t Love Me.”

I usually dread walking into this school. This wasteland of bright lights, neutral colors, the smell of a bunch of people who haven’t showered, and the sounds of people talking. I walk the crowded hallways in fear, I never feel safe for a second in this school. It always feels like everyone is watching, judging, like a million tiny daggers are jabbing me all over my body. I’m always just waiting for someone to say something offensive or do something to show that people like me aren’t welcome. This isn’t a usual time though, as I’m here after hours for a driver’s education class. The hallways, usually full of life, are now empty and quiet. The bright lights usually shining down are turned off. It always gives me a weird feeling when I walk in here, like something isn’t right. I am holding the letter, one side is dented from my hand gripping intensely onto it, knowing that letting it go could kill a part of me. The warm sweat on my palm is soaking into the envelope, causing some of the writing on the outside to fade, making it barely legible. The cold, dead hands of fear just waiting to consume me like quicksand, ready to keep me rooted in place and prevent me from even trying to deliver this letter. I walk into my class, and I see him. Soft dirty blonde hair, deep brown eyes that I could stare into for hours, and nice pale skin. Standing at around 6’ tall, he has a light gray jacket and light blue jeans. He’s pretty quiet and reserved, but his smile could light up an entire room.

Immediately, a strong wave of fear and anxiety washes over me, almost pushing me out of the room and out of the situation. After making eye contact with him, I feel paralyzed, like I can’t do what I set out to do any more. I can feel the tight, cold grip of fear pulling me into the ground, trying to swallow me whole. The memories of my past experiences flood my brain, overwhelming me. I start to ask myself what the point is, and why I’m even still trying after this long. At the same time, I know that this is the last chance I’m going to have to talk to him, since the class ends after today. I sit down in my usual spot at the back of the class, unsure of how I am supposed to focus myself and take my test with everything taking over my mind like a plague. I spend the entire time taking my test trying to figure out how to approach him. Before I know it, the class is done, and we are leaving. I notice he’s sitting outside, I assume he’s waiting for his ride. I sit in my car, letter to my side, debating to myself whether I should finally approach him. I sat there for a good while, until I watched him leave. My chance was over. I was so frustrated with myself for not taking the chance, the chance that could have been different, but the chance I was too afraid to take.

I constantly carry the fear of judgment of others, which prevents me from living my life. I also carry the words I want to say to the people I have feelings for, but am held back from saying by that fear of judgment. It has been hard for me, especially recently trying to find someone, and these negative experiences are stuck on repeat in my head while I have these thoughts. I constantly analyze these situations and think about the things I could have done differently.