A Love Letter
This is the first love letter I have ever written, and I hope it will lead to our first love. I may sound like a pompous prince, but as I am vying to be your prince, I wish to make my feelings known the same way you so wonderfully and fancifully flourish in the stories you share with me. I would tell you all this if I could, but the words only come to light written. So look it over, and even if you don't feel the same way I do, please write back. I need to know.
Yes. Now that the eve of summer is upon us, I ardently wish to convey, before it is too late, my love for your soft brown hair cascading from the crown, your aquamarine eyes, your hand-woven clothes from your light cardigan to your rippling skirt to your knee-high wooly socks, swallowed firmly by white sneakers, the kind that nurses wear.
I still remember your admiration for the nurse that padded back and forth to care for your sickly health, as a child of the unrelenting winter. Back then, I was your cardigan, the light cloth that entertained you with fantastic tales from the imagination. How was it that Mr. Butterfly of the day could wed with Ms. Firefly of the night?
I waited until you were better, until you found friends, until you caught up in school and lived a normal life, telling stories of your own. You made it a point to ignore the pen and speak from the heart, the way I did for you. But were you fully recovered? I waited until you could flutter like a monarch and glow like a lampyris yet to be caught by the glass jar that is adult life. But am I too late? I fear that it may be so.
I had spent this summer busying myself with sports, academic camps, and volunteering. All for appearances, frivolous appearances, to apply to an unknown institution of strangers. I was stupid. College is a ravenous fracture in the earth that seeks to divide us. On my deathbed, I will not have wished to have gone to a better college.
Rather, I would wish to have acted upon my first sign of love. The girl that let me borrow her notes in French class, which prompted me to take in every heart-dotted i, every curly t and your smile emergent in every two (occasionally three) exclamation points, jumping sideways out of every three, and secret notes to whom I just realize now was to me. You were thinking about me.
I studied that notebook so carefully that I failed that French test horribly. But that smile I gave you when I returned that notebook was genuine. Now that I have said this, you may be reluctant to ever lend me your notes ever again. What's a love letter without an embarrassing moment ventured?
But I should also indulge in the moment courageous. The time we solved that bully on your bus. I wasn't built strong, I was only average height. Did I go at him like a kid who watched too many superhero movies? To be honest, I considered it. But I helped him in English class instead. I was the nonviolent hero. And I heard he didn't just apologize to you, he thanked you for saving his grades. You became friends with your bully and he was a bully no more. We found a better way.
So I am writing like a bratty prince that leverages a good deed for a girl's heart. Yet as in your story, I only mean to show that I will be there for you. That I love you. I am the prince who happens to have a penchant for ornate elocution. The brave prince that works with the princess to find a better way. I am Mr. Butterfly and I am telling you about all the places I can take you in the early morning, if only I can see your delicate glow in the dusk, Ms. Firefly.
So as I've said before, upon reading this, you should let your feelings known to me. And if they are as I suspect, then I will make sure our first love will be the greatest.
Forever your loyal prince,