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Dear Georgia,
I think of myself as a writer, yet when I’m with you, I lose all grasp on words. It’s probably for the best. I can’t tell you how I feel, so I’m going to write it. Maybe unleashing some of my feelings on this innocent piece of paper will help me manage them the next time we’re together.
I’m in love with you. I don’t know when it happened. I suspect it’s been coming on for a long time. Your friendship has gradually become the most important relationship in my life. Your smiles the only thing I want to see. Your laughter the only thing I want to hear. The realization today was a jolt straight through my ribcage that seared your name on my heart.
I know, I know. This is already so cheesy it’s clogging my arteries. You would probably laugh until you cried if you read it. I can’t help it. I’ve had relationships before, women I cared about. What I feel for you goes so much deeper.
It’s not just the difference in time and knowing myself better.
The difference isyou—your heart, your humor, your willingness to do absolutely anything for the people you care about. The way you throw yourself wholly into the things you enjoy. The way your joy shines through your art. The way you think you don’t trust anybody, but you have a circle of people you fiercely love who truly love you back.
I am one of those people. I’m not delusional enough to think that you love me the same way. But I am in the group of people who adore you. Utterly and completely.
I should probably burn this. That’s the traditional thing to do with unsent love letters, isn’t it? Is this one of those “felt cute, might delete later” bits you tried to explain to me the other day?
I love you, Georgia Donnelly. I wish I could tell you.
Yours always,
Miles
Letter
One year ago
Dear Georgia,
Working side by side with you is turning out to be the greatest joy and keenest torment of my life. You don’t mean anything by the little touches you bestow on me each day, I’m well aware. And yet, I feel them like a flame on my skin. Your hand on mine when you take charge of my laptop. Your shoulder nudging me to drive home a joke. Your fingers ruffling through my hair.
That last one almost kills me every time.
Today, you told me about the hero in a romance book you’re reading. It’s messed up to be jealous of an imaginary person, but I’d like to punch him in the face all the same.
I would be that man for you if you’d let me. I would support you and protect you, encourage you and be entirely dedicated to you. I would cherish you, Georgia.
I would never be able to kill a man, no matter how villainousor deserving, so in that respect I suppose I can never match up to him. All hope is lost.
Still. I hope anyway. I hope one day you’ll see how much I’ve cared for you all along. If you never do, I still hope for the deepest, most genuine love to find you, whoever that might be with.
This one’s definitely going on the burn pile.
I love you, Georgia.
Yours always,
Miles
Letter
One month ago
Dear Georgia,
I adore your enthusiasm. You don’t like holding back, and I love to see how things play out when you throw yourself into something new.
Except for your latest scheme to find me a date. A girlfriend. The love of my life.
I wish I could tell you how misguided your efforts are. All you have to do to find her is look in the mirror.
