david
8:14 p.m.

Dear X,

Its hard for me to even write this in a place where your eyes will ever reach. And, because of that, I know that the words I hope to one day say and have said back to me will never be said. They will never leave my lips or my fingertips - at least not to the point that they will get to you. I am in a world of pain. I am embarrassed by my no longer secret feelings. I wish you somehow knew of them. I wish that you would feel the same.

But why would you, and how could you, ever feel the same? You live the life that everyone dreams of. You are married to a great woman. You have four amazing children. Your life is in place. You seem to be happy. You have never let on otherwise.

Is it you or your life that I love? It is you.

I know this because when I am around you, my heart skips a beat. I get those unmistakable butterflies. I feel incredibly happy. And yet, at the same time, I know that the hole in my heart that is made for you will always be vacant...at least of your love.

I really would give up forever to touch you.

The emails I get from you and the ones I write to you are my constant sources of happiness and frustration. Each one I get, I silently and foolishly pray that it says something about your love for me. The love that I know doesn't exist. Even if others say it does.

Why will you not look me in the eyes when she is around? Why do you treat me differently than you do everyone else? Why do you flirt so that it is obvious to only my true friends, yet you won't just touch me? And why do you "beam" when I am around? Why won't you feel this, too?

Or do you?

Take a deep breath and notice me. Just give me one chance.

I am in love with you.

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