It terrifies me that no matter what I do, you never seem to understand how much you mean to me.
Please understand that when I say, “I love you,” I don’t mean, “I’m in love with you.” (I’m simply in like with you. There’s a definitive difference.) I mean that while your self-esteem doesn’t waver too far in any particular direction, I see the entire universe in you.
I wish I could tell you how much you captivate me with your every word, how fascinating you are, without you thinking that I’m just hitting on you. And I’m sorry I tried to kiss you that one time. I suppose that sends mixed messages.
I don’t use the term “best friend” lightly, and I can only hope for your sake that you don’t either. And maybe, someday, after we’ve been best friends for years, you will realize that you’ve been in love with me all along. And maybe not. But it’s a pretty thought, at least.
One day, I will show you the true power of touch. How even though you may be one of the least physically compassionate people I’ve met, you have had your moments. Like when you were sitting next to me when we found out she died, and I burst into tears despite not having known her. Not only did you let me fall into you, but you put outward effort into being a proper cushion. It’s things like that I will never forget about you.
I’ll never forget anything you do. And in the meantime, I’d like to say thank you. I wish words were better suited to describe you, and I hope this letter may one day make it into your arms.
I hope I make it there, too.