I don’t know how long I’ve loved you, but it feels like forever.

I wish I could call you more than a friend, but really I never allowed myself to be in a position to love you. Not like the sort of stable love you need. I’m not sure how I came to terms with that, maybe I haven’t even now.

The one thing I knew is that it was always you.

I never came back to someone so many times, I’d never cared so much or loved so deeply that it hurt. It was always you, my silly and sweet, but unaware, one sided crush.

It feels sort of weird to admit it after all this time, but no other explanation works. I wrote you that long handwritten letter on your birthday last year, and it felt so good to make you feel special. I love seeing you happy.
I’m happy that you found yourself a loving boyfriend, he gives so much stability I never could. He seems like he’s a good match for you, and I know he’s sweet and loving and kind to you. That’s all that matters to me.

Your dream of the two story house with him, the back patio, the swing, the garden, the pond pool, he inspires you. You inspire each other, and isn’t that just… perfect?

You’ve always been perfect to me. You always will be. I wish I could say that in some way, a part of your soul with always be tangled with mine, but wouldn’t that be selfish? I wish you could look in the mirror and see what I see, how I see you. Everyone has their flaws but I love you for you, all of you. Your voice when it turns sleepy is enchanting in it’s own way, the silly “mhm” and the random humming noises. How your voice goes up an octave when you get shy, or breaks when you cry.

I wish you were my rose.
© aura.wrote