I’m Sorry But I Love You.

Dear You.

I can’t believe I’m writing this, but here it is. All my life I never thought I’d say these things, and yet here I am. Growing up, love was something of a mystery to me. I didn’t know anything about it. So I wondered why all the songs back then were about love. I wondered why there were songs that preached ‘all you need is love’. ‘Really now?’ I thought to myself. ‘But I don’t know what love is.’

You remember that, don’t you? I would always complain about it aimlessly, knowing no one really cared what I thought. My parents divorced when I was 6, and I grew up without a father, and sometimes a mother in my life. Aunt Lucy was the only mother I really had. But then she had to leave and die. Crap. No love there, right?

I would grow up alone and reach highschool, reminding myself every day of my life how I didn’t know a thing about love. I really didn’t. I wondered why I saw boys and girls kissing in the bathrooms. I wondered why flowers were given out in February, and why girls swooned when they saw a boy kneel down in front of a girl with a small black box in his hand. Really, I had no idea.

And then I met you.

I remember all the afternoons we would spend, talking about how much we didn’t know a thing about love, and how we hated it. We would laugh at kissing and express hate towards touches. I remember that one afternoon in February when the boy who delivered all the flowers arrived early and so did we, and how we kicked all the flowers and burned them. We hated love so much we would spend our every waking moment making sure love was not in the air when we were around.  But then something began to happen.

My heart would beat twice as fast when I saw you. It seemed as though I couldn’t even manage to wipe a smile of my face every time I saw you. I would find myself in class, looking at you, admiring your every feature and making good of what I used to see at imperfections. I would stare at your photographs and smile as I touched you. I would blush as I fingered the necklace you gave me, realizing that it was special, and that it had come from you. I would spend the nights wishing that you had given me one of the roses we had trampled that day, just one… so I would know how you felt.

There aren’t enough words to say this, but I think I’ve said enough. I realize our friendship may end because of this, but now is truly the time.

I Love You.


Signed, Me.



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