And if this is too much to take in you can ball up this letter and throw it
in the trash. I won't be mad. You can take this letter and burn it. You can
watch it crumble and disappear in the flames. That's ok, I won't be ashamed. A
part of me feels like you already know and I'm learning that life is too short
to let this go. But I want to. I want to let this go. I don't want to tell you
what's been so obvious to so many for so long. I don't want to tell you that
when you're close I can't breathe and my heart races so fast no sprinter can
catch it. That in those moments I die a glorious death but I'm instantly
resuscitated by your touch. How can I tell you that the sound of your voice
gives me chills and that talking to you highlights my day or a minute in your
arms lasts a month in my mind. I can't bring myself to say to you that after you
kiss me I wonder what I could have done to deserve such an intimate expression
of affection. I feel foolish trying to explain to you that at the end of the day
it is your imperfections, yes every flaw, that leave me assured yours is the
company I want to keep.
Should I mention that my eyes are tearing as I pen this. Because I love
you. Because you are my friend and I love you. Because I'm afraid I may have
just ruined eveything we've managed to create over the years. Because being more
than your friend is a risk I was never willing to take so seeing you with other
women was the easier sacrifice to make. I'm not complaining; by no means do I
regret my silence. It's just that at this moment my mind and heart are at war
and quite frankly I can't handle the violence.
Honestly, I don't know how I'd handle it if you read this letter with
acceptance. Part of me wants you to return this with rejection. As sick as it
sounds, something inside wants you to say "You're just a friend, that's all you
are and have ever been. I'm flattered but I don't feel the same." At least then
I could be exactly sure of where we stand. Then I wouldn't worry about what to
or not to say, or if I'm giving the wrong answer to the right question. When
people ask if there is anything between us I could with every assurance respond
"We're just friends. Nothing more." Then I could be for sure.
But you don't have to answer me at all. I'm not asking for anything. I'm
not looking for you to confess your feelings to me. I'm not wishing you rush to
sweep me off my feet and whisper to me that you'll never let me go. I'm not
drafting this letter in hopes that you will pen your own proclamation pouring
your heart to me. No, because I would much rather have let this go. But I couldn't
take the chance of dying tonight without letting you know.