19-10-10
Miranda,
This is the only way I can think of communicating with you now; all my phone calls and attempts to see you have been thwarted. Thwarted. The word makes me think of fairytale stories; the evil characters plots to destroy the good; the brave, foolish knight trying to rescue the damsel, who actually isn't in all that much distress. Funny things, words. The dual meaning behind some; or rather the dual meaning certain words can have when communicated with a certain facial expression or tone. And the simple bluntness of some words that leave no more room for interpretation. And sometimes, the lack of words that speak louder than any of them ever could. Funny things.
Before you stop reading, I just want to say that I am sorry, with all my heart for the hurt you felt at dinner.
I don't have the option of telling you this face to face; all I can hope is that the words I write now can hold as much meaning to you as they do to me, without you looking into my eyes to believe them. Perhaps, because of everything I have just pondered, it is a good thing. Perhaps, face to face, you would find some hidden - dare I say nonexistent - emotion that would convince you of my deceit, not because it was present, but because you are who you are and because of the things that have partly made you what you are. I can only hope that you keep reading this, that you give my words a chance, because they are my words, Miranda, and they are my heart.
The night before we went to dinner, I was so excited. You had actually agreed to meet me; to give this 'us' thing a chance. A few hours before we were to meet, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't decide what to wear, how to do my make-up, what to do with my hair, but it was not because I was meeting the revered Miranda Priestly, fashion icon; not because I had to be impeccable for Miranda Priestly, fashion icon. It was because I was meeting you, Miranda, and I wanted to look nice, to feel nice for you. The way that you make me feel nice. And when I saw you and you smiled what was to me the biggest, warmest smile I have ever seen (though to others it may have looked like the merest hint of an upward turn) I couldn't have cared less if I had turned up in my ten-year-old polyester pajamas with scraped back three-day old hair. Because that smile wasn't for Andrea Sachs assistant extraordinaire (don't interrupt) who always had to be impeccable. That smile was for simply me, from simply you, and I cherish it.
I know you must have felt nervous; perhaps even a little scared. Miranda Priestly, after all, doesn't do casual dinners. I will admit to you that it was hard, at first, negotiating the conversation; but not for the reasons that you think. I was not - am not - scared of you; merely scared of how you will react to me. When you admitted that even your dates with your husbands came to seem just like business arrangements...a compromise, or a show of attention to stave off bigger issues, I wanted to tell you that I understood; that it doesn't make you evil, or heartless. I wanted to tell you that it was because you weren't happy, that they didn't understand you. But if I had, I know you would have shut down, and so it was best to just let you talk. I needed - still need - you to be comfortable with me. I know that it takes time, but for that to happen you actually have to give it a chance.
Miranda, when you mentioned age, and I began to laugh, I wasn't laughing at you. Please, please bear with me while I try to explain. I laughed because of the way that you described us; "cute and fluffy versus tough as old boots". I laughed because the phrase was just so..ludicrous. The act of thinking before I speak and act does normally abandon me at very inappropriate moments, and so it took me a few moments to realise what you must have been thinking. I told you that I was in no way cute and fluffy, but because I hadn't thought to say that you weren't tough as old boots, you took that to mean that I thought it true. It didn't even register then that the comment would have stuck in your mind. Not until you mentioned something about your hair, and I laughed again. I realised when I got home, well after you had walked out, that it had been a test; to see what I would do. But Miranda, please, it was the what you said and the way that you said it that was funny, not any sort of truth behind the comment.
I find you extraordinarily beautiful, always have and I daresay always will. I can't even begin to tell you how beautiful I think you are without resorting to every trashy romance novel cliché going. But it's so much more than what I see, Miranda; more than what everyone else sees. I'm not out to hurt you; in fact, what makes you so bloody sure that I don't think that you're out to hurt me? I want to laugh with you; at things; I want to make you laugh. I want to be the one that I know you're thinking about when your eyes are full of happiness; or longing; far away and dreamy; or the person that keeps you grounded when your world is flying about your ears. I want to be a part of your world, your life Miranda, but I'm not settling for an elevated assistant role; being treated to lunch when you can fit me in, and then having to watch my every move and word in case you are too busy analyzing, waiting for any reason to flee. I didn't have you pegged as a coward. I would sincerely, dearly love to hear from you, Miranda, but if you are going to reply blaming me for your early departure; blaming me for being insensitive like everyone else, no doubt stating the many differences between us, then I would rather you didn't. I would rather endure the silence than hear you use me as a cover for your own insecurities and demons.
I would dearly love it if you let me in, as I can assure you that it would not be much of a chance to take, for you have already, somehow, found your way inside of me, and to hurt you would be to tear myself to shreds. Let me in, because I know that I have fallen in love with you, and I believe you could do the same with me.
Or perhaps...well, I can only apologise if I have totally misread your actions/intentions, and I won't bother you again. But I won't apologise for loving you, Miranda. I can't.
Andrea.
Sorry for the long delay in updating; I think I know where it's ending and it won't be much more now but may take a little while longer to update due to the manic amount of deadlines I have coming up!
Thanks again for the reviews, alerts etc, they really mean a lot. Hope you like this one :)