THE GIRL AT THE GYM

Letters I Never Sent – Episode One

So, there’s this girl at the gym. She’s got this stillness about her – a quiet fire in her eyes. Calmly livid. Pretty. Dangerous, maybe. You look at her and you can tell she’s been through something – or maybe she’s still going through it. It’s in the way she talks, the way she breathes, the way she doesn’t flinch when the world gets loud. She’s got that look – the one people write songs about and never get the lyrics right.

They say the heart wants what it wants. But what if it can almost reach it? What if it’s within arm's length, teasingly close? Then maybe the heart sends signals to the fingers – “grab a pen, write something. Anything."

You know, feelings are mad things. Wild and untamed. We don’t get to choose who we catch them for. Sometimes it's the girl behind the counter, sometimes it’s a stranger on a random Tuesday, and sometimes – sometimes – it's a girl doing walking lunges next you on Leg – day.

Hey, hun. Sorry you’re late. I was just telling them about you. I told them about your smile. That half-smirk you give when you think I’m looking away. I told them about the way your eyes flirt before your words do. The way you say my name – like it’s a secret between your teeth.

I think I like you. Not as much as I love my workouts, though. But if I ever held you, it would be tighter than how I hold my dumbbells. Less firm. More intentional. Because you deserve soft.

It would sound crazy if I said I look forward to seeing you every day, right? Because I act all chill. Like you’re just another face in the room. But inside, you split me open every time you smile. I steal glances, then pretend I wasn’t watching. My eyes always run ahead of my courage.

What I’m trying to say is – I love you. In the most inconvenient, uncalled-for kind of way. The kind that creeps in between reps, during rest breaks, and when I’m wiping sweat from my face.

I hate that you have a boyfriend. But I love that you say you don’t love him anymore. I love it when you casually mention you’re single and we can mingle – like we’re on a TV show and your character just broke the fourth wall. I love how you say it like it’s no big deal, while my brain immediately starts calculating whether this counts as cheating on a guy I don’t even know. Okay, I have only seen him but that doesn’t count, right? I love that you leave me confused, excited, and a little morally conflicted all at once – Like I don’t know if I you love me too, even though I badly want you to.

But you said you loved my voice. You said it does something to you. Said you fall in all over again when I sing. Maybe, just maybe, there’s something worth digging into here. Maybe you love me too – I think. Maybe you hide it in those little murmurs. The ones I always ask you to repeat, and you laugh and say, “That ship sailed.” And I just stand there, smiling and hoping it’s still docked somewhere nearby.

And now you have me screaming my lungs out to the Chainsmokers between reps so that you'll keep falling – falling for me.

Though my demons keep whispering. They tell me you’re just like the others. Pitying. Zoning me out slowly. Giving me just enough attention to stay, not enough to hope. Waiting for your useless boyfriend to act right again so you can ghost me and tell me we were never anything. I’ve lived that loop before. I've been the stand-in before the real act came back on stage. The backup plan. The emotional punching bag.

You know, I’ve been through it. Left on read. Gaslit. Loved for the thrill, dumped for the kill. I've been the guy someone came to heal with, not the one they stayed with. I remember begging someone to stay – someone who said they loved me, then I was left for a ‘best friend’. I remember calling late in the night, needing someone, and only to get the classic “I NEVER LOVED YOU” in return.’

So yeah, it’s hard to believe this is any different. But you? You ask me if I’m okay. You tell me to go harder. You make sure I smile, even on days when the only reason I show up is to wash off the bloodstains on my soul. Those days when the gym is my only therapy. When I’m quiet, you hug me. Call me by my name. You say you missed every part of me. You make me feel alive, even on the days when the weights feel heavier than usual. And it has nothing to do with the iron.

I told you, it’s been ages since I last felt anything. Anyone. I told you I don’t believe in love anymore. That if we tried, two months in I’d probably zone out. Drift. Like I always do.

You said it’s okay. Said we fight the same demons. Said two months is all it takes for you too.

So maybe we make those two months count. Make them our everything. Build castles with sand, knowing the waves will come. Knowing we’ll smile as they wash them away.

I haven’t felt like this in years. Butterflies? Long gone. Smiles? Forgotten. Blushing? You brought that back.

So yes.I think it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.Not because I enjoy pain – no. But because for the first time in a long time, the pain would feel worth it. Like the soreness after a good workout – tangible proof that something happened, that something moved. Maybe that kind of heartbreak, yours specifically, would be the only kind I’d hold close. The only wound I’d nurse proudly. Right beside the soreness in my quads.

Look, I’m not needy – I don’t go around begging to be seen, to be loved, to be held. I’m just... a vessel. Emptied over time. Worn out by false starts, almost – loves, and ghosted conversations. A dandelion in the wind – light, fragile, floating. Looking for somewhere – someone – to land on, just long enough to feel grounded before the wind comes again. And somehow, you felt like that still place. A calm in the chaos. A home I didn't know I was searching for.

And if all of this – this you, this story, this almost – love – is just a dream, then maybe dreaming is better than reality. Maybe I don’t want to wake up. I’d rather stay asleep, over and over again, stuck on this loop – replaying every glance, every smile, every time you said my name.

This chapter – this part right here – feels like the one I wouldn’t mind getting lost in. It’s the one I’d dog – ear in my life. The one I’d come back to when everything else feels heavy.Eyes closed. Zoned out. Smiling like an idiot because it’s you I see.

And if this isn't love – if this is just an obsession, or hope, or pure delusion – whatever it is,I love it.

I remain, yours truly,

~ The Imperfect Writer