Apologies

I read once, a long time ago, about a study whose analysis suggested that people with blonde hair and blue eyes are instinctively attracted to those with the same characteristics -- the idea being to preserve this recessive trait for their offspring, essentially extending the desire to carry on their lineage unchanged.

This certainly had an effect on how I felt about the various hair colors. I don't know that the same theory holds for red heads/brunettes, but I've dated both, and just judging from the famous men I adore (albeit mostly for talent/overall looks than for hair color) I say that I prefer dark hair.

The truth of the matter, however, is that I'm terrified of being the opposite of what someone I love's instinctive desire is. I don't care if it's science or if it's society or psychology or if it's flat out personal preference. What am I supposed to feel, when you put blondes up on a pedestal, but the undesired last place?

I didn't know you hair was blonde. I never understood the concept of gradual darkening or changing alongside seasons. I tried to forget the former when you answered "blue/green" as your eye color, and took a great comfort in the fact that I could see the green. Green is my favorite eye color. Is it because I know I'm out of the leagues of those with blue or that I hate my own dull irises?

Forgive me.



I'm sorry that I don't have the shining blue eyes or sun-colored hair that you love so much. I'm sorry that, no matter how many years I have spent and could possibly ever spend wishing I was pretty will never make me what you want. I'm sorry that I can only ever hope to be "good enough" for your tastes. I don't want you to have to settle for less.

I'm sorry that I can't have eyes like the sky and that when you look into them all you can see is the color of the dirt under your feet. I'm sorry that all the color of my hair will ever remind you of is the dead of the darkest night.

I'm sorry that I can't be what you want me to be and that now you feel no need to excuse your preferences and yet even when you did, it was so hard to believe you because oh god I knew. I knew. I knew.

I'm sorry for getting upset with you back then when it came up. What was the point? I knew. I knew. There's no point in pretending. There's no blindfold. Nothing disguised this truth in front of me other than my own vain wishes.

Forgive me.

I open my eyes like the dirt and finally see.