The Thursday evening before my first festival, I was feeling myself from the whiskey gingers I got from the open bar. There was so much going on - music, friends, drinks – but you caught my attention. My friend who works in film (and usually runs into somebody everywhere we go) was talking to you, about 20 feet from our group. I asked my friends who you were, and all the girls shrugged… so I went for it.
“Hi Tim, who’s your friend?” (turns head to look at you) “Hi, you’re really good looking.”
I won’t go into specifics with how the rest of the conversation went, but I was slightly humiliated because I should have known who you were. After all, Tim is one of your biggest fans to ever exist; he even took me to one of your shows about 6 months before this coincidental leap of faith. Maybe you were surprised that I had no idea who you were, maybe you actually thought I was charming. Either way, it worked. After fans distracted you, you returned and we started chatting again. I was surprised myself when you asked for my number. Flirtatious text messages throughout the festival, a brief run-in during Alt-J, a birthday FaceTime, and months of selfies, questions, and answers later, things went silent.
Timing and distance are two things that inevitably put out the most ferocious fires, and neither were in our favor. After all, you had a booming career, a life in New York when I was in LA, and of course, the old flame that finally caught your attention and your heart.
You promised to take me on a date, I imagined finally kissing you. Instead, the next time we saw each other, we exchanged awkward side hugs and let go of a history that only existed in my mind. You never told me directly what had happened, but I didn’t need an answer. That fact that somebody with your level of intellect, success, and maturity was interested in me made me feel like I was more than enough for anybody in the world, and I’ll never forget that.
The Love Letter Series is a personal tribute to people that hold a little piece of my heart. These letters aren't necessarily about love; they're dedicated to long relationships, short encounters, romanticized memories, heartbreaking losses, longing, and forgiveness - all without a name mentioned. Vulnerability is a feeling I've long avoided, so these letters are an intimate look inside my highly guarded heart.
Photo by Alyssa Timoteo