I don’t know you. There, I said it. I don’t know you. I have never stood before you and attempted to speak in your presence. I’m pretty sure this is a good thing. I could never speak to you. And I never should…
I’ve been hearing your name for years, always in context. As in, “Oh, I know this really cool girl named…“ I know your name and I know where you’re from. I know who your favorite comedian is. I know what kind of clothes you wear. I know that you’re kind. I know what you do for a living and I know how much it encapsulates every ounce of your soul.
But we’ve never met. There’s no specific reason for it. We’ve had chances to meet in the past. If I pursued, if I stepped out of my world, my fears, I would know you. But I’ve never pursued. I’ve never bothered. And it’s not because you aren’t worth the effort. You are definitely worth the effort. It’s just that I know something else about you. I know that I’m just not good enough for you.
I’m not talking about my physical appearance or my finances or anything superficial and dumb like that. You’ve never struck me as the sort of person who cares about how someone looks or how much money they make or what kind of car they have.
What I’m talking about is my soul. You are a shining light in this world, as cliched as it sounds. The reason why I’m not good enough for you is simply that you are so much better than me. I’d never deserve you, and I certainly wouldn’t subject you to me and my complicated bullshit.
You’re the sort of person that others look up to, and you probably don’t even know it. You’d never notice it, because you’re not self-conscious like that. Maybe it sounds like I’m putting you on a pedestal. But, hell, I’m not the first or the last. And I’m not wrong.
I know what would happen if I finally met you. I simply wouldn’t be able to speak properly. I’d stammer and stutter and sputter my way through introductions, assuming you don’t know who I am. But of course you know who I am, in context. And, knowing you, you’d be kind about it.