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rb Aug 2017
Dear Manic Pixie Dream Boy,

You’re weird.

You like to dance badly to Michael Jackson. The Beatles are your idols. You’re a miracle worker when it comes to procrastinating projects. You choose to be Murdoc over Nightwing any day. A phone is a necessity you chose to live without. A good-looking leather jacket is among one of the many things you’d want in life. You have a vintage camera collection and your house has ninja swords that no one really uses. You let others borrow your bikes, and are not afraid to punch someone who’s a threat…

… and that’s why I like you.

I like the way you accept my flaws. I like the way your curiosity takes over every inch of space you’re in. I like how it’s so easy to talk to you, no matter how mundane the questions are. I like how you don’t judge my preference for long, critical words. I like how you value opinions a lot, and think them through. I’ve asked for your help too many times to count, and you don’t show any signs of being tired about it. I don’t know if you notice the way your face lights up when you talk about the things you love, because it’s blindingly endearing. It’s precious that you have a checklist of things to do before you die. Each word that comes from your mouth seems so genuine and sincere.

I could go on and on about the little things that make me so enamored with you… but I know I’m not supposed to like you.

Labels are a possessive sign to you, while labels give a sense of stability for me. Your nocturnal ways and my early-bird persona will clash eventually. I like finishing things early, while you wait ’til the last minute. Disney doesn’t exactly mesh well with the Gorillaz. Your stubbornness and mine will be our downfall, despite the numerous petty debates we’ve had so far.

I’m still glad you’re my friend.

I mean, that’s what we are, right? Friends? I mean, friends sit on the curb of the street and listen to how each other’s days went, right? Friends stay up until the late hours of the morning to talk about life through audio calls, right? Friends go to the park in the middle of the night together without their parents knowing, right? Cute nicknames as we wish each other good night is a friend thing, right?

Right. I forgot. Labels are a possessive thing to you.

I’ll try to stop checking Facebook for every chance you’re online. I’ll try to make our talks less about personal things, because I think only my labeled “boyfriend” should know them. Forgive me for trying to keep my distance, because I’m sure that I’ll only fall harder the more I get to know you. You’re probably starting to get weirded out by my strict, depressed lifestyle, anyway.

I hope that one day you’d find The One who would change your life. As much as I’d like that to be me, I know it’ll be someone else.


The Snooty Protagonist
Best to write things down before it eats me up inside, honestly.

— The End —