The Dearest

Dear you,

I am in love, with you. I have been for quite some time. It’s like one of those things that were bound to happen. Puzzle pieces coming together and all. You are perfect, and now my heart is in your possession. 

When I see you, the synapses halt, and music plays in the background. Its tune is soft and happy, a perfect combination for my nervous heart. And when you smile, it’s like heaven itself has blessed you with light.

There is so much to admire. I love how words spill out from you, slow yet confident. With a determination that’s respectful and patient. And your heart by God, the rawest and most alluring part of you with its rich golden hues. I love your laugh that’s wrapped in velvet and gold, kind and reflective of sunlight. I love you irrevocably with every atom of my being.

If I ever were to tell you, what would you do? Would you shrill and come running into my arms, reciprocating what I feel for you? Would you smile, let me down easy, and pretend it never happened? Or would you scorn as the sun scorned at Icarus? I can’t imagine you being so brutal and savage. You are incapable of such vile actions, you have been bathed in warmth and courteousness. 

I am content with just being another friend. I fear my confession will drive you miles away from me. But this longing pricks me, constantly poking and hurting my mind, drunk on the possibility of what we could be, on how great our love could be. So I have decided I will confess. Not today. Not tomorrow. Someday in the near future, perhaps I will let you know you are the melody to my eyes and ears. 


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