Dear Patrick
Letter Thirty-Five
"You look so beautiful in white, Lana."
You blushed, but tried to ignore your red cheeks. Then you told me "Shut up Patrick before I take this fucking dress off..."
Please do, I thought.
"...and go to prom wearing sweatpants and your jersey."
Oh.
"You'd still look better than every other girl there." I told you.
"Stop trying to get laid. Where' s Paige? Try that shit on her." You disregarded all my compliments.
"You look so beautiful in white, Lana."
This time I was saying it to you with more than just the intention of getting in your pants. You looked beautiful facing me as we stood in a garden decorated with white roses and silver glitter. You hated how girly it was. "This is really fucking corny, Pat." You told me the whole time we were planning.
But in that moment, you loved it. And when I put the ring on your finger, I saw the glitter in your eyes- literally and figuratively. You smiled at the ring and then at me and said, "Stop trying to get laid, Patrick."
I laughed. But not a real laugh. Not the laugh you laugh when you find something funny. That laugh you laugh to yourself when you're so ridiculously in love with someone. You put the ring on my finger next. The photographer told you to make eye contact with me when you did that so the picture would come out nice. You obeyed, for once, and accidentally put the ring on my middle finger where it got stuck halfway. We spent the next ten minutes trying to pull it off. My sister came to the rescue with a little lotion bottle and used it to help slip the ring out.
Later, when I finally had you all to myself, I held your hand in mine and we just stood for a minute. Then I pulled your hand up and kissed it. You stuck your tongue out at me and winked. Then you pulled my hand to your mouth to imitate me. Instead of kissing it though you smelled it.
"Cinnamon Vanilla hand lotion, Patrick? Should I be worried at all?"
I laughed. You laughed. The lights were dim. I asked you if lighting candles would be "too gay" for you. You said yeah but lit them anyway. I waited for you in the bed.
"If it's so gay, why'd you do it, Lana?" I asked you.
You fake rolled your eyes and sighed. "Ugh, Patrick. Sometimes I have to put my feelings aside to do what makes you happy. It's called sacrifice. It's called-"
I interrupted your potentially very long, sarcastic lecture with a kiss. You pulled back thirty seconds later and said, "Patrick. This isn't a fucking movie. You can't kiss me to shut me up. It's just-"
I kissed you again.
You pulled back again, "My husband's a dick."
"No," I told you, "Your husband has a dick."
When I kissed you, you didn't pull back.
Then I heard you crying. But it wasn't you crying. It was your cry but it wasn't you. I didn't know where it was coming from.
Then everything went black.
You blushed, but tried to ignore your red cheeks. Then you told me "Shut up Patrick before I take this fucking dress off..."
Please do, I thought.
"...and go to prom wearing sweatpants and your jersey."
Oh.
"You'd still look better than every other girl there." I told you.
"Stop trying to get laid. Where' s Paige? Try that shit on her." You disregarded all my compliments.
"You look so beautiful in white, Lana."
This time I was saying it to you with more than just the intention of getting in your pants. You looked beautiful facing me as we stood in a garden decorated with white roses and silver glitter. You hated how girly it was. "This is really fucking corny, Pat." You told me the whole time we were planning.
But in that moment, you loved it. And when I put the ring on your finger, I saw the glitter in your eyes- literally and figuratively. You smiled at the ring and then at me and said, "Stop trying to get laid, Patrick."
I laughed. But not a real laugh. Not the laugh you laugh when you find something funny. That laugh you laugh to yourself when you're so ridiculously in love with someone. You put the ring on my finger next. The photographer told you to make eye contact with me when you did that so the picture would come out nice. You obeyed, for once, and accidentally put the ring on my middle finger where it got stuck halfway. We spent the next ten minutes trying to pull it off. My sister came to the rescue with a little lotion bottle and used it to help slip the ring out.
Later, when I finally had you all to myself, I held your hand in mine and we just stood for a minute. Then I pulled your hand up and kissed it. You stuck your tongue out at me and winked. Then you pulled my hand to your mouth to imitate me. Instead of kissing it though you smelled it.
"Cinnamon Vanilla hand lotion, Patrick? Should I be worried at all?"
I laughed. You laughed. The lights were dim. I asked you if lighting candles would be "too gay" for you. You said yeah but lit them anyway. I waited for you in the bed.
"If it's so gay, why'd you do it, Lana?" I asked you.
You fake rolled your eyes and sighed. "Ugh, Patrick. Sometimes I have to put my feelings aside to do what makes you happy. It's called sacrifice. It's called-"
I interrupted your potentially very long, sarcastic lecture with a kiss. You pulled back thirty seconds later and said, "Patrick. This isn't a fucking movie. You can't kiss me to shut me up. It's just-"
I kissed you again.
You pulled back again, "My husband's a dick."
"No," I told you, "Your husband has a dick."
When I kissed you, you didn't pull back.
Then I heard you crying. But it wasn't you crying. It was your cry but it wasn't you. I didn't know where it was coming from.
Then everything went black.
Thank you guys so much!! Let me know what you think of the newest chapters!
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2/12/15