For the one I wish I could tell I love,
I'll admit I've spent a lot of time playing out conversations that I want us to have, meticulously going over every single word I might say and every word you might say. Those interim minutes I spent bled into hours over the last two years and now I am writing this out, a brief and utter cliched reflection for you, the girl I want to tell I love.
First, I should have said something sooner. I should say something to you now, but I probably won't. To me, you are the reason the sun rises and the gentle wind blows. You are the reason that the night sky is lit up with stars and the world holds promise for even its smallest creatures. You are among kings and queens. If there is in fact a God, He has smiled upon you. So why don't I say something to you? Because what business have I, a lowly man, to be interacting with a masterpiece of the heavens?
I have been taken by you for the last two years, and your unknowing grip shows no signs of loosening. Not that I'm complaining; if I'm to be taken by someone, I'm happy it's you. I'm happy that it's you that my stomach flutters at the sight of, I'm glad it's the slight curve of your upper lip when you smile at me, I'm glad it's the devastatingly beautiful eyes that look at my plain face. If looks could kill....Let's face it, you and I both know that they can. My heart has skipped more than its share of beats when your eyes fall upon me.
Conversations I've had with you linger in my memory. Casual conversations, nothing important, yet I feel like I've footnoted and annotated everything you said. All of it echoes in my mind; every word you spoke, every pause you took, every breath you inhaled. If only you knew that as each word left your lips and found a spot in my ears I was falling deeply, deeply in love with you. Your thoughts are the answers to questions I never knew existed. How thrilling it was for me to explore those questions, with hope that one day you might answer them again. How it sends electricity through my veins and radiated outwards from my core, infinitely into the world.
Fire courses through my body when I see you from afar, walking to class or to dinner or to your room. The butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in my stomach awaken and I am suddenly fraught with an inability to see the world around me. There is only the sight of you walking, to or from me, that consumes my vision, my mind.
Poets and philosophers can't explain love, so how could I? Nabokov was close. "I looked and looked at her, and I knew, as clearly as I know that I will die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth."
I hope you read this. If you find it in you to speak up, please do. Heaven knows I've eagerly awaited those words.
