I never wanted any of this to happen. It’s stupid and unrealistic and wrong. You’re my /teacher/, for heavens sake.
But I want you. God, I want you.
But I want you in the most innocent way. I want to sit watching crap telly with you on a rainy afternoon; I want to hold you close and gaze at the stars; I want you to hold my hand and tell me that I’ll be okay. I want you to still care, but I don’t think that you do.
You’ve helped me through more than you’ll ever know. You helped calm me down throughout countless anxiety attacks. You helped me to build my confidence. You are the reason I haven’t killed myself already. But you’ll never know that, because I can never tell you that I don’t just have anxiety; I have depression, too, badly; I can never tell you that the thought of you was what made me stop cutting my wrists; I can never tell you that you’re the reason that I didn’t tip myself off the top of the maths block that day. You know the day. You’ll remember it. Remember finding me crying, remember mumbling in my ear “you’ll be okay, my love”.
I’m not okay. I’ve pushed you away. I didn’t mean to. You don’t take my class anymore; the only time I see you is in the corridors. Do you realise that every time you nod or smile at me as you pass by, my heart breaks? I miss you more than you could ever know; I adore you, all of your stupid habits and sticky up fringe and your smile, god, your smile. I never see it anymore.
Sometimes I’m tempted to just tell you. That I’m hopelessly in love with you. To just grab you, and kiss you, and then I can die. You’re the only thing that’s keeping my alive, and I feel like I’m losing you.
You’re my teacher, for heaven’s sake. And you’re married. And you’re a woman. I’m not even meant to be gay.
I really fucking love you.
I know I’m young, but I know what love is when I feel it. You’re my world.
And I really am sorry.