The Redamancy of Shade and Art (BOOK 2)

A Letter to Art Mendoza

The Sixth out of Eighteen (And Counting)
Art_Mendoza_06.doc

December 9, 2018

To my dearly infuriating Art,

I should really stop writing to you. (But, at this point, I can't stop.) (You follow my priv twt after all. Where else am I supposed to cry?)

It's... embarrassing. It's more than confusing. I have a hidden folder on my laptop with six letters addressed to you. I wrote one for our ninth-grade retreat. And then I wrote another one after the retreat when I couldn't help but... think... of the way you breathed steadily, held me close, massaged my head. And the ache in my chest when I had to disentangle myself from your embrace when I really didn't want to.

There were other days I wrote to you, too. More mundane days filled with the tiny details of wonder only I notice sometimes. I wrote my third letter to you after you smiled at me on a dull Thursday. And then I wrote my fourth letter when you danced in the auditorium, and I couldn't stop thinking of the way you moved, the way your body smiled. I wrote my fifth letter on a sadder day when my Dad was a drunk asshole, but you cheered me up by joking with me and listening to me speak.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I don't know what to do with myself.

I guess... let me tell you what's going on right now.

It's the ninth of December. I am sixteen. And I am also watching you sleep. (Kind of creepy, kind of not.) I am eating a banoffee... sandwich... and playing music. You are so peaceful. And so caring. And all the things I would ever want to be surrounded with.

Fuck.

The morning light is gentle on your face. You hold your pillow close. You breathe steadily, calmly, and I cannot ignore the thoughts in my head that scream:

You are so, so, so beautiful.

You are so beautiful, Art Mendoza.

I am floored every time I look you in the eye. Every time you smile at me. Every time you giggle in the middle of a joke and turn to look at me. It blows me away, and there is nothing left for me to do but... but...

I don't know.

I see the roses I bought you on your desk.

I wonder what you think of them.

I wonder if you know what I feel.

And I wonder what you will do with that knowledge. Or if I will ever tell you. If I will ever have the courage to.

Whatever... this is.

In my chest.

In my hands.

In my head.

In the very fiber of my being—

That aches for you.

Always Yours, until the end of time, until the stars crash,

Shade Flaurante

--

hello!! welcome back!! and as always, pls dont be ghost readers!! :]

welcome to our ROSA, whcih will be set in philippines from 2019 to 2020!!!! no rona, just vibes and gay people <33

ive already posted this as a snippet in the first book, but i hope you guys are looking forward to chapter 1, nonetheless :] it's taking a lot of self restraint on my end not to just post the entire book tbh hahaha :]]

that's all! leave a vote and some feedback <3

- yana