A simple love letter never meant to be sent.
I hoped by now that my feelings would be truly exposed and that you would be mine. Sadly, this has not come to be, and you are still held in the arms of another. Although I know you most likely do not return these feelings, I cannot help the wants of pining heart. All I hope to accomplish through the words of this letter is to express these feelings ascending in my soul. Why I dare even write this when you are just over there, reading, with your body so close I could almost touch you. Your beauty distracts me as I write; You’re so captivating as you sit there, head bent over the little blue book as you concentrate on the words written within it. As I stare, I can feel my heartbeat as it grows faster. I am amazed that you haven’t noticed it’s heavy drumming against my breastbone.
However, your mind is lost among the words and you read on, unnoticing of everything that entices my aching heart to stop working at any minute. Why do I force myself to withstand this torture? Why do I dare continue another day, yearning over something I’ll never be deserving of? Why do I dream about something I’ll never be able to brush, never be able to feel the edge of its warmth, much less to hold forever?
I know the answer without even a thought. It’s simple. I do it because I cannot stand the idea of not seeing your radiant smile, the one that lights up everything and leaves you glowing like an angel. I do it because it would pain me to miss when the hot, rose colored blush soaks your cheeks because embarrassment is too powerful for you to hide. I do it because the idea of not being there to see you wake up to see your birthday gift from me sends me to my knees. . do it because I’d hate myself knowing that I’d left you who doesn’t know that you like your tea without sugar but loaded with milk, and who forgets that you have trouble lacing your boots, and who doesn’t understand that a purple lotus is your favorite flower, not all lotuses. I want with my entire being to experience these simple moments with you, these touches of love and pure friendship even if it’s all I’ll ever have. And-
Must I say it? Yes, my heart is powering my hand now, and I can no longer prevent it from not writing the words. It must be said, even if it is to a slice of paper that will never been seen by your eyes. I believe that I love you Miss Guinevere. I hope you can forgive me for being so selfish by writing down these feelings.
Your faithful servant,