Dear X,
I started writing this before, and everything sounded so cliché. It still may sound that way now, and I'm sorry. That's not good enough when I want to talk about you. I don't feel that anything that I write is good enough for you. I feel as if it's almost wrong to write this to you, knowing that you'll never get it, knowing that I'm going in too deep with writing this. Some things, some feelings, especially longing, should stay buried deep inside one's heart, never coming to the surface to be displayed to anyone else. For it is here, at this surface that lies an open range for humiliation. Anyone who thinks they're in love can write about longing, and their feelings will be like all the others, maybe different in the words used to express them, but the same at the root.
The photos buried in a pile of many others, a fragment of a song, doing my calculus homework and knowing that you've already finished yours. These things trigger that longing burried away. At times I try to shut it out, keep it away. After four years, don't you think it's time to give up? You don't understand how stupid I feel, because I think that if I told you about this, you would care.
Sometimes I look at your arms. I long to run my fingers down your forearm, stopping at your wrist to feel your pulse. This way I know that you're alive, that you're real. Your eyes are as clear and blue as mine. I look at them sometimes, until you notice I'm looking at you, and turn away. I would feel stupid if you ever found out these things. They're thoughts that should be carried out by action, and never expressed by words. Even now, I can see the stupidity of them when they're formed by characters upon a screen.
Longing can't be expressed in words. I'm sorry I tried. You deserve a lot better than my crude attempts. One of these days I'll make you understand what I've tried to say, not because of my words, but because of my actions. Until that day, I'll just keep it buried in my heart.
Before | After