I've never really believed in the concept of falling in love at first sight. In books that I had read, it had sounded like such an easy way to get someone to fall in love with someone else; a shortcut, or a cheat, no effort put in to the relationship. There were no meaningful interactions between the two, no heartfelt talk of any such. They met, and one of them fell in love without any input from the other whatsoever.
That kind of love felt hollow, and so I didn't believe in it's existence; Instead I chucked the idea into the grinder and merely attributed the idea that people were mistaking love for simple attractiveness.
Until... until I met you. You've proven me wrong since then.
I could remember the day as clearly as if it was like tomorrow; the biting cold of a January's morning trying to freeze my fingertips, my breath coming out in short puffs of white vapor, walking to school instead of taking the train like I should have. At seven in the morning, with the clouds hiding the sun's glare, and the light snow decorating the suburban streets, the artificial light of the nearby houses, and the clear, crystal air pleasantly tickling my nose, It had painted what otherwise should've been a nice, yet plain place a beautiful landscape that would've fit right in with a painter's canvas.
And then I had embarrassingly bumped into you at the next turn, like a scene from a cliché romance-comedy drama come to life.
I wonder, do you remember that day like I do, I thought wistfully.
I could remember the sensations clearly, even now months later, how my heart rate had ticked up irregularly, how the cold bite of January had seemed so trivial next to your presence, how the world exploded in colors I never knew existed, how it multiplied a hundredfold in beauty with you simply existing next to me, and how my worries and doubts of the first day of school seemed to wash away itself next to you.
I could remember how I fell in love with you.
I could remember every interaction with you, how I had so desperately wanted—needed to be next to you and how your laughter had sounded like something I have never felt before.
Your touch was electric, every accidental brush of your hands on my body feeling hypersensitive and pleasant. Your laughter was the melodic tune of an early Christmas, of long forgotten memories, nostalgic and warmth in feeling. Your voice was sugared honey, syrup and melted chocolate, sounding so sweet to my ears. Your eyes were royal purple, like the color of diamond amethyst embedded in the ancient crowns of kings and queens of golden empires and kingdoms; long forgotten to history and mankind.
If beautiful had a perfect synonymous word, I have no doubt you'd perfectly describe it simply by existing.
If—If conversing with you had felt like that, I would've given a kidney and a quarter of my soul for you to have hold me in your arms.
But alas, I... I am but a coward. Every time I thought about confession, about opening my heart for you, of unwrapping it from accursed chains and barbed wire, I thought about that smile of yours. That pleasant curl of your lips that signified happiness, how you had smiled it to me back then. I thought about it, and then I thought some more.
Would it... w-would it curl in disgust, when you learn about my feelings for you? Or would your eyes narrow in confusion? Would you tell me about how I never registered in your radar? About how you had someone else in mind?
Even now, almost half a year later, the thought of that possibility stills my heart for a beat and puts a tremble into my body.
I, like most humans, fear change. Detest it, even. I feared the twist—the change—of your smile if you learned about my affection of you. And so I simply hid myself inside of myself. I wrapped my heart—your warmth, my love and affection, your smile and touch—in accursed chains and barbed wire, and threw it into a box, out of reach, out of mind, deep within the enconsced locks of mind.
But now, with us being in school's last year, I... against my fear, I started reconsidering it. I've heard about it probably a thousand times by now, about your aspirations to get into that well-known and respectable university, about how you're gonna apply for a scholarship, and how you're probably gonna move somewhere else closer...
...the thought of never seeing you again physically pains me, and fills me with bone-deep terror, and it is so that terror of not seeing you again that won against the fear of rejection.
And so here I am, love-letter confession in hand, right infront of your locker—this suspiciously sounds like a scene from a romcom anime—and skipping Ms. Knott's last period in favor of actually confessing.
My hands are ever so slightly trembling, and it feels like my heart is about to burst with how loudly it is beating inside of my ribcage, and and for a moment, I thought about simply going back to class and pretending this never happened, and having my eyes settle on you—shut up I'm not ogling—just to feel that same electric feeling of love fill me up all over again—but the moment passes, and my hand—the fucking traitor—moves on it's own accord and slips the blue colored love-letter through the small slits.
Well, shit, was all I could think of in that moment.
I stare at the locker in horror.
The locker stares back impassively.
The day passes by in a blur of a weird mix of emotions churning in my stomach. Hope, fear, anxiety, regret and panic. I don't remember picking up my backpack from my locker, avoiding your gaze and presence all the while, and rushing out of the school hysterical in my gait, and yet, when I come back to my senses, I'm already in my room, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, and already imagining the twisted curl of your lips as you read the letter the disgust in your amethyst eyes...
...the churning of fear inside of me did not permit to a good sleep that night.
Morning, was, in a lot of ways, worse than yesterday. Waking up, brushing my teeth, and eating breakfast peacefully only to remember yesterday's clusterfuck was like a punch to the gut—very much not so comfortable.
But—I was tired of being a coward. Even if this was a mistake, even if I would look back to this day with regret and heart-ache—If I could just be able to face my fears, if I could be able to look you in your amethyst eyes and be able to clearly say—
"I love you."
—then I could make due peace with my mortal life.