english,
Literary (Submission): A Letter
Ma chérie,
I do like you.
Many times I have regaled you with tales of the days when I liked — perhaps loved — someone else. Those days, however, are gone and past. Feelings that were once ablaze with passion have now been reduced to mere embers, stamped out by the unrelenting march of time.
Believe me then, when I say that I do like you.
We've known each other for what? Four? Five months? People have fallen in far less time. You said you did for me. I, obviously, refused to believe it, as you may well know. This is karma, I suppose.
Now, you refuse to believe that I do like you.
Seemingly because of all those things I said before about liking another: all the metaphors and the poems and the jolly good feelings. I cannot deny those. Yes, they did exist, but they have faded, as old sepia photographs — memories, or rather feelings — do.
Whatever doubts you may have regarding my affections towards you, let them rest. Long I have denied them, yes, but I have come to terms with the truth. Let this be, then, a testament to that.
Words, I am aware, have their limits, and mine cannot but approximate the feelings that I hold for you or all the wonderful things I see in you. This is but a futile attempt to let you see what I see — to convince you of the truth — to have you believe that I truly have fallen for you.
Because I do like you.
Just the prospect of seeing you always fills me with excitement. It brings to me a certain… liveliness — an energy — which rushes through my veins. The dull monochrome of the world becomes awash with colours.
The mere thought of you brings calm to a weary soul, a mere image, a smile to a sullen face, and your presence — oh for you to be there, beside me — it is a joy beyond anything that Earth may offer. What else is to be expected of one who glows with the radiance of angels?
Fireworks. I remember when we watched fireworks. Well… it was mostly you watching. I glanced at the fireworks, yes, and they were pretty, but they were no match for you. I doubt you noticed that I was actually looking at you most of the time. It was drizzling lightly so you had your hood up and it was pulled tight. You looked so cute then, there in the dim light.
That day was also when, as I remember, we hugged for the first — and only — time. You hugged me. I tried to hug back. It was awkward as hell, owing to me. I did enjoy it though. It felt nice, despite my aversion to hugs.
And now here I am, writing this letter, fearing what the future holds.
We’ve been seeing each other less and less. We’ve been talking about our lives less and less. I’m afraid — afraid that I’ll no longer be a part of your life, or worse, that you’ll no longer be a part of mine; and I really am afraid — afraid that one day you’ll pass by me and I won’t care because we’ve grown so far apart; and I really, truly am afraid — afraid of what the future may hold, knowing that my feelings are likely not reciprocated (when they could have been) and that you’d probably just glance over this letter and shrug at it.
You once told me to just forget about the annoying, glasses-wearing girl. I wasn’t ready to do that then, and I’m glad I didn’t, for that annoying, glasses-wearing girl has become such an integral part of my life that I cannot bear the idea of never having met her. And I’m glad that I got to call her — you — a friend.
From your best mate,
An infallible man, reduced to a mere lover
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