Dear Katelynn,
This is the second time I've quietly tried to capture my feelings for you. Lieselotteast time, I didn't even know your name—now I can finally write it down and feel like this letter is complete. I've read all sorts of books about love—self-help guides, romance novels—and I think I'm starting to understand what love is and what I want. And what I want... is you.
It's strange—this feeling I carry. I've always associated it with scents. Citrus, of all things. I never thought much about it before, but when I smell it around you, it's different. Even if I buy dozens of oranges, none of them taste the way you do in my memory. It's absurd. Our encounters always feel rushed, like fate is teasing us before snatching you away. And I still haven't asked you why you always seem to carry that scent. Maybe to humans, citrus is just another fruit.
