On your wedding day, I wish you exactly what you allowed me to find: love.
I know you are getting married today because I occasionally Google you. It's not a bitter Googling, just a curious and somewhat nostalgic practice that takes place a couple times a year. That's what led me to find your wedding website.
Even though I had never seen your site before, it looked eerily familiar. You built it with a template similar to the one my now-husband and I used when we were planning our wedding. I saw your engagement photos, the little write-up about how you met your bride to-be, and the details for the big day.
What struck me most was how different you seemed than how I imagined you in high school. Of course, I couldn't have said who you really were back then because I admired you from afar.
Even when we became friends, we maintained a certain emotional distance. We were acquaintances more so than friends, really. Because of that distance, you became a screen for my projections. I was too in love with you to see the real you — not that you seemed the least concerned about that.
You never wanted a relationship beyond what we had. We talked about class and books and movies and current events and science. Yet we never talked about each other's families or private beliefs. We were just two nerdy kids, a boy and a girl with zero romantic potential between them because you never entertained that possibility.
It took until nearly the end of high school before I realized how futile it was to yearn for you. That's when I discovered that in all the ways that counted, we were virtually strangers. How could I love you when I didn't know you? And how had I denied myself the joy of loving someone who could return such love?
Love wasn't supposed to be painful, and I only understood that once I fell in love with someone who wanted me as much as I wanted him. He had been there for years but I hadn't seen him because I was so preoccupied with you.
Not that you are to blame for my obsession. You never intentionally hurt me; if anything, I hurt myself. You could've easily misled me for your own benefit, but manipulation wasn't in your nature. I knew that much about you, at least. You never tried to deceive me; I was simply blind.
Thank you for not pretending to return my affection. In the end, that would have been far worse. I could have wasted precious years with you instead of getting to know the man I cherish and have chosen for my partner in life, with my sight fully in tact.
On your wedding day, I wish you exactly what you allowed me to find: love, an honest and truly requited love. May you too truly know and truly love the person you have chosen for your partner in life and may she truly know and truly love you — both of you with your sight fully in tact.
The Girl Who Learned To Fall Out Of Love With You