Four years, three letters, two people, one unrequited love. This is my third love letter to you, but the second confession letter. One of acceptance and gratitude rather than the envy and madness of the previous. Forgive me for all this writing, but my thoughts are always best expressed on a page. Especially when I haven’t told most people about my feelings for you, I confine myself to these pages because I still hope that I’ll get to give this to you someday—this whole truth I couldn’t relent. But this is it, no backstories, no dreams, no bullshit—just my verity.
I’ve loved you since we landed in the same Confirmation class in seventh grade even though we were only strangers at the time. Since I noticed you sitting behind me in grade nine English and grade ten history. Since you accidentally answered Albert Einstein to Harshita’s sample quiz question instead of Adolf Hitler. Since the times we skipped woodshop and learned that you loved sisig, that your middle name is Caesar and that you’re so light on your feet that no one can hear your steps. I’ve loved you for every gentle smile, for the way you admired the things I was proud of, and for the way you conveyed yourself to others. But I especially loved you for the way the universe made us cross paths again over a year later with a gentle tap on the shoulder, a wordy admiration letter and all the messages afterward—even the New Year’s greeting at four in the morning and congratulations on a random day in March. I’m enamoured by your mind, wit, and logic (oddly, your fluffy-looking hair that looks healthier than mine too), and smitten at the thought of you and your heart, yet indifferent at the mere fact that I can’t even see you—not when you’re effortlessly present in my mind. Now that. That was what I’ve always wanted to say to you, but time—myself as well—ceased that from ever happening. It’s so easy to type, yet so difficult to say.
It’s all seemingly insignificant, but it proliferated. I gradually got to know you with these hints of who you are as a person. I know, these small moments can be unseen by the glasses we wear, perhaps microscopic. But under a different lens, I think we would’ve worked out.
In my mind, I thought:
“It’s just a phase, it’ll pass…”
“You’re too young, therefore you wouldn’t know…”
“He’s only your first love, you’ll get over it…”
“I’m 100% over him…”
But my heart called bullshit every single time. I subconsciously knew it wouldn’t “pass” or that I wouldn’t “get over it”. Most of my claims were rooted in other people’s relationship experiences, how “young love seldom lasts”, “your first love isn’t your last” and all those hopeful things. I grew weary of deriving my claims from familiarities, but I know how I felt—it sure as hell was real, then and even now.
Realistically, there’s nothing I could ever do to salvage the time I could’ve had with you—not even for a few seconds. I know I could’ve conversed with you more and initiated messages after your leave, but we both knew all of it would be in the past—in your past. I think I’ve been in a precarious position with you for the past year, but what I shared with you was kept secret from everyone else because it’s the only thing I call ours. Oh, how I really did catch romantic butterflies for that compliment I know all too well now—even though I said I was unsure. Note taken: be straight with your feelings. They still flutter in the home they made in the pit of my stomach because you still make me incredibly happy. Note taken, be straight with your feelings. Tell me I’m “obsessive”, “blind to love”, a hopeless romantic, or a simp even—but please don’t ever tell me that all of it was meaningless.
Of course, as time goes on, everything had already happened; it was almost like we had an expiration date. There were times I wanted to text you to see how you were doing, but I’d only make matters worse. I know now that I can never truly reach you like I once did, but I can only thank you for being my first love, the one whom I get to tell my kids about in the future. I’ll talk their ears off about you, how you are one of the nicest guys I’ve met and how you’re not some sleazy player who belonged to the streets. Someday though, it’ll be known that you are the first person I ever fell in love with. Regardless of whether you felt a smidge of those lovely butterflies or thought of the possibility of “us” at any point too, I’m sorry that I restrained myself from ever finding out and if I confused you during all of this. Perhaps in another universe, we made it and adored each other until the very end. Thank you again, I’ve now fully accepted my place in all of this. I’m incredibly proud of you for everything you’ve done to have the life you have now and even prouder of the person that you’ll become. Your priorities are crystal clear and your loyalty to them is what drives you to be better—and I’ll forever respect that. The heart wants what it wants right?
In fact, in 4 seconds, the healthy, average heart beats about 5 times, but mine beat 20 times faster and was 10 times stronger with you in my life. It took me over four years to even begin falling out of love with you, but damn, I know that it can take 4 seconds of seeing you for my heart to beat a million times…and for me to fall in love with you. All. Over. Again. As a person who isn’t in your life regularly, I admit that I will still truly love you, but I know I need to accept and respect the present, even if I don’t want to. This is my small way of hugging you goodbye.
Forever in love,
Shaye
