MAYBE I WAS WRONG


Dear ____.

I've been following your blog in secret. I know you found out about my feelings for you, and then you said I was dishonest because I told you I was over you. I'm sorry, I don't know how many times I've said I'm sorry to you. I just thought that if that's the answer you've wanted and if that's the answer that'll make you happy that's the answer I'll give. Maybe I was wrong.

Because it doesn't matter anymore - I know that your life and mine will never cross, merge. But I still love you anyway. I still think you're wonderful, beautiful, etc. I know it won't work out. I know you will never care for me the same way I care for you.

Of course, and then. I look at the stuff your friends say to you, how happy you are with them. And I realise that you've never quite been happy with me. I feel really useless to you. But that's okay. I'm glad you're among people who make you happy.

This is why I'm writing this letter here. Because something in me wants to go up to you, give three cheers, and all that. I'm proud of what you do. When you write about stuff you do it makes me really happy. But you won't be happy to know that.

I don't care if I get nothing out of this. The only thing that matters is that you're happy. This is why I hope you never find out about this.

(I love you - you hate these words)
____.