It wasn't that I "friendzoned" you, and simply couldn't view you any other way.
I did love you. I did want to spend time with you. I wanted to be a part of your life and I wanted to be important. What I wanted wasn't enough though. You wanted more. You wanted me to be able to express the same feelings you had, and I just couldn't.

I did love you, I swear on my life.

But I wasn't in love with you.

There's an important distinction between those two phrases. Though similar, they bear different meanings. I love most people I know. I'm not in love with most people.
And I wasn't in love with you.

The love I had for you was most purely expressed through the long hugs and drawn out silences when we'd stay up until four in the morning. We'd be talking in my living room on a school night about everything under the sun and maybe even the sun itself. You had work in three hours. I had school in three hours. We'd have to call it a night and I'd wait until I knew you got home safe before I went to sleep. My parents didn't trust boys, but they trusted you.
You were my go-to for everything. If I was irritated about something I knew I could talk to you about it and feel validated, or you'd remind me to check myself when I was out of line. You were understanding and most of all you weren't pushy. You knew how much I hated being pushed into things. You knew everything about me, it felt like. Not because I told you, but because you paid attention. You were an active listener, you took notes on my facial expressions and knew the underlying truths hidden within my behaviors. I couldn't feel the slightest twinge of irritation without you noticing. In hindsight, I never truly appreciated how much you paid attention. Thank you for that.

You taught me how to snowboard and, honestly, you knew how terrified I was. You patiently listened to my fussing and frustration and explained the dynamics of the sport, and about how I needed to both throw myself into it and be patient with my learning pace. You taught me a lot more than just strapping a board to my feet and sliding down a mountainside. You taught me what it means to go the extra mile for someone. You could've spent the day boarding at your skill level, but you stuck with me and helped me get to a reasonable place.

Make no mistake, I loved you to my core. And I had entertained the idea of us being more than friends. But, truthfully, you didn't notice me in that way until that thought had passed from my mind as an opportunity. By the time you started to see me as someone you wouldn't mind spending your life with, I had started to see you as a big brother figure. But when you wanted to give it a shot, I loved you enough to say that I would try.

I tried, but it was too late.

The realization that a moment has passed before it had the chance to begin isn't one I was ready to thoroughly consider at eighteen, so I didn't. I just told you that I didn't feel anything and that I refused to lead you on because I cared about you enough to be honest with you. And I'm happy I was honest with you. I'm happy I wasn't selfish and let you love me with the knowledge that I could never love you the same way. In my eyes, I did the right thing.

I miss you. I miss who being with you made me, I miss who you were. I miss loving someone and not feeling pressured to be any kind of way but myself. I miss you telling me how weird I am. If you'd seen my hair these past two years you would've shaken your head and said "what else should anyone expect? You're an individual, you always have been."
I miss being able to tell you everything without fear of you leaving.

Except, I guess I should have been afraid.

Because you did leave.