Some angry prose by me

I titled this "Prove me wrong;" it's one of those letters that never get delivered. A semi-monologue. =) Tell me what you think of the word choice and phrasing and whatnot, please.
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You know, when you don't answer me emails for weeks on end, or call me back, pretty much ever, it makes me wonder who you really are.

I thought I knew you.

I sure liked the guy you used to be - witty, friendly, nice. You were that guy that was popular, because you were innately cool, and the popular kids were drawn to you, instead of the other way around. You would have hung out with anybody; it didn't really matter.

Your quiet self-confidence and composure was almost a physical force. Calm and ease radiated from you. You took things as they came, and never got bent out of shape if something a little weird was thrown your way. If you knew you were going to have to face something hard, you wore your 'game face.' I know you were downplaying that speech for your mother's benefit, because you didn't want her to worry, but your game face was on, come showtime. Wouldn't have wanted to get in your way -- you looked like you could have walked through a Mac truck without batting an eye, you were that serious, and down to business. When your friends would freak out over nothing, you'd chuckle a little, and then tell the poor soul to, "Just chill, man. You'll be alright." To a girl like me looking on, that was incredibly intimidating, that someone was so down with their own bad self, that they could just be, but also incredibly sexy. A guy that doesn't seem insecure, but that also isn't cocky or arrogant? Hallelujah!

And what about those times we'd hang out in the library, talking books? I mean, come on. Guys who love books as much as I do, and the same genres even, that's hard to find. I took your advice, by the way. Louis L'amor is pretty dang good.

I could list you a thousand examples -- that time when I finally figured out what the heck was going on, you seemed proud of me. And those few times, when you told me a story, and it felt like you were giving me something, that you trusted me. Especially that day after the accident, when I came by with the card for you, since I didn't have a "get well soon" one. I wanted to know the true story, because the rumors were pretty crazy, and it turned out that you needed somebody to listen. Sure, you didn't always get along with him, but he's still your brother. And the care and worry were written plainly on your face. You didn't put your game face on, like I thought you might. I felt helpless, because you're usually so solid, and here you were, tears in the corners of your eyes. I didn't know what to do. What good is hugging a rock? It didn't seem right, even though you weren't your normal self.

Your normal self was enough to make any girl swoon. The right blend of charm and gallentry, you only gave meaningful compliments, and always responded, "Why, thank you," when the favor was returned. Used to make me smile; you sounded like how we imagine knights did, being so polite like that.

And even when there wasn't enough time to say hello, you'd at least smile when you saw me. Your dazzling grin always seemed like it was just for me, special edition. I wasn't too sure that it was -- didn't want to fool myself -- but it felt that way.

And now -- now you seem preoccupied when I do get to talk to you, and don't respond to my communication for days at a time. I've tried making allowances, especially lately, since you're getting ready to move, but it's feeling more and more like I'm just not welcome in your life. You have more important things to do than talk to me for a few minutes, and can't be bothered to reply to an email or phone call. Deliberate or not, being so soundly snubbed is really hurtful.

Of course it has to be right before you leave. I was hoping that maybe we could stay in touch, email each other every so often, so that if/when you came back, we could still be friends, because we'd kept up all that time. But how can I make you understand that? You won't even talk to me. Yes, I like you. I like you a lot, but I can be realistic. Trying to have a long-distance relationship, actual boy-friend and girl-friend style, would be too much. So why can't we shoot for the "just friends" version? I'll gladly be just friends with you, if you'll only let me.

But thinking about it, it seems hard to believe that the guy I described first, and then the person you've been lately, are one and the same.

My fears broke out of the closet of my insecurities the other day, and this one that looks exactly like a miniature version of me climbed up to my shoulder and whispered in my ear, "You know he'd laugh you down. Who are you trying to fool? There's no way he could like you, you'd only be humiliating yourself."

I hadn't heard that one in a while. The other guy, the nice and funny one, he wouldn't have laughed at me. He would have been a little bit sad that he didn't return my feelings, but he would have wanted me to still be friends with him. And I would have been smart to accept that.

Now, though, now, that fear is perfectly valid.

You weren't supposed to prove me right. I wanted you to prove me horribly, terribly, awfully wrong.

I still wish you would. I really do. But you're leaving soon anyway, taking both of the yous I know away, leaving me with that miniature version of myself -- the last person I want to be stuck with.

I dont get "angry prose" when I read this, more a lament.
Its too analytical, each of the arguments and points are carefully regemented.
The title "Prove me wrong" echoes this, you have set down the case for the prosecution.

Perhaps a bit more passion required. Get those feelings across.

Even though it makes me feel with it, I agree with the above poster, it does not really speak much of your fury. Maybe you need to include more of your emotions in it.