A/N: This is a letter from Quinn to Rachel. Part one of a short two chapter drabble. The second chapter will not be happy. Just saying!

Dearest Rachel,

By now you're probably married. I can't believe I just wrote that. It's making me nauseous thinking about it. Either way, by now, you're probably married. You've probably, or at least you better have, had the most amazing career. Because, I mean, after all the annoying things I had to endure with you in Glee club, you better have been the next Barbra Streisand and Patti Lupone combined, or else I'd have to kick your ass. Whatever, you just better have had a full life on stage, is what I'm trying to say.

Maybe by now you've had kids? Although, I kind of don't see you as the mom type. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure that you'd be a pretty good mom, I just find you so driven that I think you'd wait a little longer. Maybe grow some more patience? You can't see me now, and I can't see you right now either, but I laughed a little bit because you're probably frowning at that last sentence. You know it's true! Anyway, what I mean is that I hope you're happy and that your life is going as expected.

You're probably wondering why this letter is being given to you now. Or if you're as perceptive as I know you are, you're probably also wondering how come my handwriting is still as heavy as it was in high school. That's because I am writing this the day of graduation and I don't plan on giving this to you in a very long time. Why? Well, I'm… There's just things I want to say without actually saying them out loud. The mere thought of saying any of the following out loud is outrageous to me right now and I just need to write things down before I just decide to shut off everything like I always do. But you deserve to know things, Rachel. You deserve to know, so here goes nothing:

It's taken me since the moment I saw your face to this very day, as I write these words, to comprehend, to really take in, the fact that you'll never be mine. It's taken me almost four years to understand that you probably wouldn't even want to be with me, or maybe I wouldn't want you to? Ugh, how do I explain it… I'm a mess, Rachel. I've always been a mess. And you're so well-kept. It's driven me up a wall since the first time I added your name to the slushy list. You never back down. You never shut up. It irks me to no end, but at the same time, I can't help but praise you for it? I looked up to you, and not literally. (Sorry, I had to). Despite all the stupid and childish things I did, my vendetta against you, I really did think of you as some sort of role model. I mean, what kind of person would still believe in me even through all of that? I'd say you're the strongest person I know, Rachel.

I think it was the very second after I slapped you in the face-which I'm still extremely sorry for-that it hit me. Oh, Rachel, it hit me like a big yellow bus. In fact, I wish it had been a big yellow bus to run me over a thousand times. That's what it had felt like to hit you. It felt like I should stand still and expect a giant lightning bolt to strike me as punishment. It was enormous guilt that ricocheted back to me like a boomerang. Rachel, I wanted to cry into your arms. I wanted you to hold me so tight and tell me everything was going to be okay. I wanted to do things, sweet things, and say things to you and-and it took everything, everything in me not to lock myself into a stall and hide from you and from my feelings towards you. I can't tell you how hard it was to look at you after that, even though I have a huge staring problem and it may have seemed as though all I did was look at you. It physically pained me in so many ways. A) I'd have to witness this battle between you, your future, and the T-rex. B) I'd have to witness it as a third party. C) I'd have to witness whilst drowning in my sea of emotion with your name on it. Okay, that made no sense, but whatever. All I wanted to do was get by without breaking. All my life it's what I'd have to do. I thought that if I could get through this and still remain whole, I'd win. I'd prove myself somehow.

Even then, how could I make it up to you? How could I possibly show you all the respect you've shown me? All your support? That's three years of being there without me asking…

I have no clue when you're going to get this letter, Rachel. I've put this in a box, along with things I want to leave behind. Maybe I've gotten the courage to give this to you in person someday. Maybe I've… maybe I've died? It doesn't matter. What matters is that, at some point, you'd know the truth. It scares the living hell out of me, even as I write this, the thought of telling you. Just because I'm afraid you'll sigh and give me a sad smile or a small hug with an apologetic look all over your face. Oh, God, that scares me. It'd be the ultimate closure, the ultimate rejection, and I don't think I could handle saying goodbye to you. I want you to always be a part of me and I feel like if-if I let this all happen, and sink in, and settle down, only to have it officially be you and Finn and me without you-

I just couldn't do this if it meant getting affirmation of my loneliness in return, Rachel. I hope you understand why I've waited so long to give this to you. Please understand that. Please. I'd rather smile at you from a distance, with this bullshit friendship we've developed (pardon my French, but let's be totally honest here, this was hardly a friendship and mostly on my behalf), than me barging into your relationship, in which you really seem to be happy. At least, that's what I've seen. You always were a great actress, but I really hope you're not putting on a show for anyone.

God, I feel like this letter is so everywhere and I never planned it to get so messy, but there's no way I could start it over again. I don't think I'd have the guts to do so. And I may or may not have started to cry on and off throughout it and that should explain why there's slight blotches of ink on some of these words. I don't know if I can write anymore, to be honest with you. I feel like I'm running in circles and it's just going to get excessive. And I know there are millions of things I want to say but I can't ever put into words. But that's okay; perhaps it's for the best.

Rachel, before I close this off, I need you to promise me that you won't contact me about it. Like I said, I have no clue when you'll be reading this and for all I know, you could already be with me and you'll probably never read it and I'd have had a mini panic attack over nothing…but getting it out of my chest and onto this piece of paper is enough for me, for now at least. All I could ever wish for in life, other than you by my side, is that you live a full and happy life, because you deserve the whole world.

Please, never sell yourself short of anything or anyone. You're the brightest star out there, Rachel; you shine brighter than the sun ever could. And I know that you'll always will.

And

I love you. I always have.

But I'm also sorry. So, very sorry, Rachel.

And

I'll always be yours,

(truly)

Lucy Quinn Fabray