So, it’s me again. I wrote a letter saying I loved you, but I couldn’t send it. It was short, and I thought I needed to elaborate on my feelings, which were already hard enough for me to admit to.
The day after I wrote the letter, you started acting differently to me, and I didn’t like it. I wish I’d sent it.
See, in my mind, I’d built you up to be perfect, and that’s why it hurts so badly now. You haven’t actually done anything specific to me; you just don’t talk to me as eagerly anymore; you don’t bother saying hi to me, and if I do manage to talk to you, it seems like you just want the conversation to end. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe there’s something else going on in your life that’s bothering you.
But that’s the thing. You used to tell me about that stuff. What even changed? I wish I knew. Maybe then I could put things right again.
I still think you’re perfect, but I know that can’t be true. I know everyone has flaws; I just can’t seem to find yours. That is bad, very bad.
This summer was really great. I guess the change, whatever it was, occurred slowly, because I did not notice anything different until now — I look back and see a huge difference. I think I’m in love with you from then, and I can’t really see you now.
I don’t think you realize the effect you have on me, or anyone else for that matter. I’m not the only girl that likes you. Lots of them do. I’m pretty sure you like one of them back, and she’s not me. I hope it works out for you; I really do… as much as I like you, I’d rather you be happy.
Before we started talking, eight months and nine days ago, I was having suicidal thoughts and had planned how I was going to kill myself. If we hadn’t become friends at that point, I doubt I would have made it. I would never know you or how wonderful you are.
Now that you’re talking less to me, I’ve resorted to making a scene just to get your attention. Sometimes, when your hand is on my arm, holding me back, I want to tell you that I’m doing it because of you; I’m making a fool of myself so you’ll talk to me again.
But that’s silly.
I know you wouldn’t care.
I don’t want to sit here feeling sorry for myself, so I’m going out with my girl friends tonight. To be honest, I can’t talk to them like I could talk to you. I felt like we had such a connection; more than anyone I’ve ever met, but I’m pretty sure everyone feels that way about you. And you don’t even realize…
I’ve lied to you many a time, but if you asked me whether I love you, I’d tell the truth.
You don’t know how much you mean to me, and if my lack of courage has anything to say about it, you never will.
There is so much more I want to say, but I can’t put my thoughts into proper words. Your friendship is priceless, and even if it is indeed ending, I’m glad it happened. Even if it never turns into more, I’m glad I know you and I hope this isn’t too incoherent because it’s late even by my time.
Talk to you tomorrow, hopefully.
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