Dear ________,

It took me a long time to decide to write this. There's just something about words on paper that makes feelings of the heart so much more real, like I can reach out and touch them. And sometimes that's scary, to know I'm baring a piece of myself to the world, even if that world is no bigger than the privacy of my own room.

But here I sit, thinking about everything I'd want to say to you, if I could. All the girly, squeal-ly things that happen when I'm around you. It always happens the same way. First I see you, and there's this second of quiet. Then my heart climbs up my ribs and into my head and I'm suddenly having to breathe around it. My palms sweat, and maybe that's not the most romantic piece of information to include, but if anything shows how much someone cares, it's sweaty palms.

Then come the flutters. A burst of color lighting me up on the inside. I guess the term is butterflies, but mine are more like bats, making me want to stand still, run away, and run towards you all at the same time. I think about what it would be like to approach you and just let myself say everything I want to say without being afraid of your reaction. There are days when I think I even come close, waiting for you after class. But then I see you, and I run away with my pounding heart and sweating hands.

Sometimes I don't like liking you. Sometimes it hurts. Especially on the days when I pass by you, and you don't even notice. Or worse, when you look at me and then look away, like there's nothing about me that would even want to hold your attention for anything longer than the briefest moment. I wish someone told me how to unwind these feelings, because I think I would like to unwind mine for you. Cut myself free and just let you slip away like a balloon. But you're not a balloon. You're a bowling ball, unintentionally pinching my fingers, making it so hard to let go.

You'll never read this, but a part of me, I think, wishes you would. That one day you'd understand, and see yourself from my perspective. That you'd hold eyes with someone for just a little while longer, because now, just maybe, you know how much it means to them.

Loving is easy. Sometimes it hurts, but I think that's okay. I think we were made for love, and something inside me was made to love you, even if you never know. I believe everyone's like that; loved so much, yet they go through life without ever knowing it. Maybe that's the tragedy.

Maybe, someday, I'll risk it all and tell you.

With Love,

_______________________