I sighed, thinking about what had happened earlier today. Liza Winthrop, my friend and peer, and I… had kissed. And I'd told her that I was gay. And she'd said… she'd said, "Annie, I think I love you."
Those six words… those six, sweet, wonderful, perfect words kept on echoing in my mind. Before I even knew what I was doing, I had grabbed my notebook and pen and begun writing.
I would say I'm sorry about what happened today, but I'm not. I'm not sorry, Liza. Because I liked kissing you. I liked being near you. I meant what I said about being okay with it if you were. Liza, I want to be with you. I want to kiss you again. I want to fall asleep next to you at night. I want
I stopped writing. No, I couldn't tell her this. I had to let this just blow over. But I didn't want it to blow over…
I flipped to a new page and tried again.
Remember when you heard me singing the first time we met? "No, don't stop," you'd said. I remember seeing you for the first time, looking at me with those beautiful eyes, your hair all frizzy. I remember you showing me the cathedral, doing a sword fight with me, I remember all of it. That first day with you… I felt happy. Free, almost.
My first thought when I saw you was that you were beautiful, and that I
The pen stilled in my hand once again. I groaned, massaging my forehead, and tore out that page.
I don't know why I'm even bothering with writing this. This is my third attempt, but I've failed every time to tell you how much you
I sighed and gave in. I owed Liza the truth. The truth about our kiss, how I felt, about everything.
I love you. I love you, okay? You're the only person I've ever felt this way about and I want to be with you forever. I knew from the moment you went along with me playing pretend that you were perfect. And you are. You accept me for who I am, and you make me want to be so much more. Liza, don't ever change. Those little things about you— the way you bring me a gift even when it's not necessary, the way you listen to me babble on and on about nothing, the way you slouch when you think… Those are the things that make you Eliza Winthrop, my best friend and love.
Every time I look at that African Rose you got me, my heart aches a little bit, because I think of you. It's a good kind of aching, really. I think about you every time I'm alone, and I can't stop. I want to. Really, I do. I know it's wrong to feel this way about a friend, especially a female one, but it's impossible not to. On one hand, I want to forget you and our kiss and my feelings, but on the other hand, I want to think about it all the time, hug it to myself, embrace it.
God, only you could make me feel so confused.
Please don't hate me for this.
I began to fold the letterwhen I had second thoughts. No. I couldn't send it. My heart, my feelings, my very soul were poured out onto that letter. I had to keep this to myself.
God, I was such a coward.
This is my fifth time trying to write to you…