You opened a folded piece of lined paper and began to read its contents. You seemed intrigued by the paper, which made me jealous. Very jealous.

Dear Keith:


I know you don't feel the same way I do, but I thought you should still know how I feel. I love you, I love you with all the depths of my heart and soul. When I look into your eyes, I lose myself in paradise. You light chocolate hazel eyes bring comfort to me in the winter, they warm me up. They see in into m soul and I absolutely live for it. Each day I fight the utter sensation to wrap my arms around your neck and kiss you passionately, to just feel your luscious lips that look as soft as pillows. The same lips that transform into a mischievous smile. A smile that can only be described as that of a child trying to sneak into the chocolate chip cookie jar before dinner. The grin that rapidly turns into a grim, thin line when something goes wrong. I fight the urge because I somehow know you wouldn't like the taste of my raspberry lemonade chopstick, even though you complimented me saying it smelled divine. Which brings me to your smell; you smell so good. You smell like a mix of chocolate, kisses and hugs. If I could smell hugs and kisses, I'm sure it'd be the smell of you which brings me comfort when I need it the most. I hate that, and I hate you for making me feel this way, and most of all, I hate you for all that you've done. I hate when you come in a room, you steal my breath away, I don't want to feel this way, and yet I do. I hate you for that, and there is nothing that can change that. I hate you, but I love you more. So Keith, don't figure it out, because I know you won't figure it out. Ever.

Love,

Me


The last I had seen of that paper was when I folded it neatly, and placed it in your locker, making sure the hallways were deserted and silent that a pin could drop, and I would hear it.