MONTAGE (with voiceover):
KRISTA takes a cd out of a case and places it in her computer. An instrumental of The Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes” starts to play.
ANDY sits still on his bed for a moment. He then lays down and closes his eyes, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
KRISTA walks down a busy street searching.
ANDY sits in a bar when his cellphone lights up with a text message that reads “I miss you”.
KRISTA sits alone in a restaurant drinking coffee. She plays with a small wrapped gift.
ANDY opens a drawer in his desk and it’s full of receipts. He pulls one out and spreads it onto his desk. A close look reveals that letters from KRISTA are written on the back.
KRISTA lays in bed watching “Annie Hall”.
ANDY flips through a book with photos of him and KRISTA pasted in.
KRISTA reaches under her mattress and pulls out folded paper with writing.
ANDY sees KRISTA on the street and turns a corner to avoid her.
KRISTA dials a number, when there is no answer she throws her phone to the ground and begins to cry hysterically.
KRISTA (v.O.)
As hard as I’ve tried, I don’t forget you. For some reason I can’t.
I think of you and my stomach turns. I can’t even tell if it’s in a good way or bad. It’s weird that you’re the one I can’t forget.
I had you wrapped around my little finger and I know it seems like I never cared. Like I took you for granted and pulled at your heartstrings for my own sick pleasure. I think we both know that’s not what happened. Well, at least I know.
I loved you, still love you. Is it as weird to hear that, as it is to say it? I. Love. You. In my own way anyway.
You’re the person my thoughts always go back to. I lay awake at night thinking “what if” and “maybe”. When really I should be pushing you to the back of my mind and moving on with my life.
It’s hard.
You don’t even realize how many things you showed me about myself. Things I was proud and sometimes ashamed of but nonetheless thankful for knowing. Things I learned from you, the ways I changed because of you.
I got so used to turning to you for support. So used to your love bringing me up when I’d fall down.
So used to hearing from you when you had too much to drink. To loving the things you said even though I knew they’d be forgotten come morning. Being disappointed. Disappointing you. Breaking your heart only to have you come back for more. Getting my heart broken and silently cursing you.
Giving up. Or at least wishing I could. I know you have and I guess that’s the part that hurts the most.
I’m only now reaching the point you reached months ago. I’m rereading your letters and thoughts, bringing myself back to when this was all fun and exciting instead of gut-wrenching and pathetic. I dial your number and hate you for not answering. I hate you for not caring anymore. Whenever something big happens in my life I think of calling you.
Is it too late for me to ask you for help? Will you show up if I need you? Will you be here exactly as you were? Or will you be different, like everyone tells me you are.
The music stops suddenly.
Krista sits in an armchair in her room. She is reading a Peanuts book.
KRISTA (V.O.) (CONT’D)
(reading) “It always looks darkest just before it gets totally black.”
Shot of ANDY laying in bed. He opens his eyes.
ANDY (v.O.)
C’mon Kiddo! Don’t be so melodramatic.
KRISTA looks up from her book and stares blankly into the camera.
KRISTA (v.O.)
I’m only human Charlie.
Is it wrong that being totally unimpressed by my surroundings inspires me immensely? That knowing what I don’t want at the moment, or in my life, is what makes me know exactly what I do want? I’m incredibly excited to be able to work, to put all this inspiration to good use and achieve my dreams. My dreams of being more and doing more than I think they could even imagine can be done.
I feel terrible about it and hope they don’t know or realize this but being here makes me realize how different I am. How isolated I would have been growing up here. More isolated than I guess I already was growing up in general. Would I just be someone completely different. I wonder how different I’d be.
In this environment it is wrong to be me. Wrong to be quiet, wrong to long for solitude. But I do of course because it’s who I am. I so desperately just want to be allowed to read in silence but that’s weird and boring to everyone around me. I can’t wait to be able to be me again.
10 hours to go.
I said I love you too soon. Typical mistake of an I love you slut who didn’t know what to do when the feelings were finally real. For the first time ever I wasn’t playing the part of a girl head over heels, I was experiencing it.
I never planned on telling you so soon but of course alcohol brought it out of me. The night just seemed so perfect how could I hold it in? Looking back it was more of a cliché than anything else. It was New Year’s Eve. Need I say more … We were dancing and I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I hadn’t even been holding it in to begin with. Sober me knew it was way too early to truly love someone. I barely even knew you. I loved how you made me feel. How supportive and kind you were. How I could feel so free and independent while being with you. But I didn’t know you enough to love you. You said it back. I don’t even remember how it sounded or any magical detail of it, probably because it was only said to be kind. Or maybe because I was really drunk by that point. The next day you told me it was too soon. You said you felt it but weren’t ready to start saying it. You didn’t have to tell me that you just said it to be kind, I just knew you did. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed. I had trivialized the real feelings I was developing for you by saying I love you too soon. Now I was that girl. You told me you’d say it again when you were ready and I decided that I wasn’t allowed to say it until you did. I had embarrassed myself once already and I wouldn’t do it again. I couldn’t do it again.
2 months later I decided that I’d need to set a deadline. I didn’t even set a real one but I knew that there would come a time where I couldn’t handle having said I love you first. I knew there would come a time where if you hadn’t yet said it then you never would. So I waited. For months I felt like I cared more. Even though I knew that I didn’t necessarily mean it when I said I loved you, but the fact that you thought I did was mortifying.
One day we were sitting in the food court. We hadn’t eaten but we were sitting at a table, both on the same side kissing and nuzzling. We were still in that phase where every time we’d kiss we wanted to rip each other’s clothes off. It’s a good phase where the kisses are purposeful and strong. You pulled away, with your hand on my face, looked me in the eyes and said “Is it okay if I love you?” The moment was so unexpectedly perfect. I was jealous of your ability to wait. To be sure when you said it. To not go around making girls feel unnecessarily special. To have the ability to make me feel insanely special when you said those words with true meaning. Because I knew you meant it. You weren’t an I love you slut and you proved it to me by waiting 3 months longer than I did. And finally, I exhaled. I was no longer the only one in.
Only all the time. Notes from pretty over 5 years later ringing more true than ever… desperately wanting nothing more than to feel incredibly original.
Do you ever feel like this plan you mapped out for yourself makes absolutely no sense whatsoever? Like you’re just about to explode from all the pressure of realizing you very well may never live up to anyone’s expectations, you own included.
Sometimes I think I used to love writing because the words had so much impact… in a way that could change everything while keeping it all the same. No one needs to see any of the things I say to myself. How intense and painful things sometimes get, how embarrassingly hopeful I sometimes get. How I generally just… get. Truthfully it just wouldn’t make sense to anyone but me. Some of my most terrifying moments in life have been when I thought someone had read my journals… when ***** demanded to read them because he was insecure and I, misplacing my need to have someone love me, let him. After I tore most of the pages out of course, but still. Or when a therapist I was seeing asked to read a page in my journals from a time I felt at my lowest and was shocked by the words she read. I wasn’t shocked. I knew I was being dramatic and writing expressively, I knew that I would never actually hurt myself… probably because I’ve been with me in the times and places where I’ve actually attempted to hurt myself and I know very well that I’m just not capable of it. I’m a baby. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s a very very good thing that I’ve never had the nerve or stomach to actually hurt myself nor will I ever actually. But I guess no one can actually ever know that but me so I can’t blame people for being afraid that I might.
Still, I like to be able to say what I want, when i want with no concern of what someone will think when they read it… I’ve decided to stop writing on the idea someone will. I feel surveyed enough in my life, I should have one place where I don’t have to feel that weight at all and this will be it.
