I don’t know how to say this. I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. Since that first hug. You were my angel when I was in Hell. You were my savior. You joke around with me, and you make me laugh. No other guy makes me laugh when I want to cry. You comfort me. You never ask what’s wrong; you just comfort me. It was always you that made me upset. But I still love you.

That first hug. I remember it perfectly. Your parents had just divorced, and you were sad. So sad. And scared. You always told me that you were afraid to get married because you thought that would happen to you. When your arms wrapped around me, my skin tingled with desire. I wanted our friendship to be more. I’ve always wanted it to be more.

And the first time I saw you . . . There aren’t words to explain how I felt. My heart sped up; my palms grew sweaty. You came and sat next to me, and I couldn’t breath. Your voice. It was music to my ears.

Why do you hurt me? You love my best friend, and I love you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see my deer in the headlights expression when you come near? How can’t you? It’s so obvious. I’ve never been so terrible at hiding my feelings. I should tell you how I feel. But I can’t.

I’m afraid, Austin. I’m afraid of losing you. That tough act I put on is just that. An act. I’m no stronger than rabbit looking a snake in the eye. I’m vulnerable when I’m with you. Weak. And there you stand, looking bug and strong, like nothing couldn’t ever happen to you. I wish I was as strong as you.

You started dating my best friend today. My heart has been cracked and stomped on before, but never broken. Today my heart was broken for the first time. Not broken into two; it was broken into thousands of tiny pieces. Each pice represented the times you hurt me. I love you.








Love,








Me


I fold up my letter and put it into by pocket. I wipe away the tears that have silently fallen down my cheeks as I wrote this letter. I stand up from my seat, and walk. As I pass a trash can, I throw away my revealing letter. I would never have enough courage to give it to him. I walk out of the room, and leave my bleeding heart behind me.