Dear Dawson

Dear Dawson-1

April 26.

Dear Dawson, I like you.

No, actually, I think I'm in love with you, but there's a problem.

You're utterly and completely oblivious to the entire thing. You don't like- or love- me back other than as a 'best friend,' I know that. I've figured it out by now.

But the way your eyes twinkle when you laugh only makes it harder to resist the pull my heart feels when I'm near you.

Your eyes- oh, your eyes!

When I first saw them, I thought they were blue.

When you turned your head to laugh your melodic laugh, though, I instantly recognized them as a much brighter and more beautiful color.

You had eyes of silver. Beautiful eyes of silver that pulled me in no matter how hard I resisted the almost drug-like pull.

Then, you turned your head as you laughed and the sun reflected in your beautiful, silver eyes. I couldn't help instantly falling in love with them. After all, they're astonishingly beautiful like every other part of you. I gawked at them for quite a long time, just staring into them and wondering why you never thought they were beautiful like I did, but you didn't notice. You never did. Even when I held your hand that one time as we walked through the park, you never took it as a romantic gesture.

You thought it was just a friendly gesture, but I knew it most definitely wasn't that at all. I said nothing, though, I was too shy and afraid you didn't feel the same way towards me. You don't. I just know it.

I don't see why you always say you're unattractive.

To me, you're the most beautiful guy in the whole universe. You hate the way your hair curls at the ends relentlessly, but I love it.

I love you.

You've never been great at sports, which is ironic considering you come to all of my soccer games. You love to watch them, in fact, and you always cheer me on even if I suck that day. You're my number one fan, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

You hate school, but you love Math. You've always been amazing at it unlike myself. No one ever picks you in dodgeball, so when I have the opportunity, I always pick you first. You always smile softly at me then shyly walk to my side as I once again gawk at your beauty. I can never get enough of you.

"You're beautiful," I built up the courage to tell you once, and you laughed your amazing laugh once again in a playful way as you ate your lunch.

"Thanks, Kindley," you replied, "but aren't guys supposed to be called handsome, not beautiful?" I only shrugged awkwardly, not really knowing what to do, but you chuckled a little. I love your laugh.

"I'm only kidding around, Kindley," you'd explained yourself, "I've never really been a super masculine guy, anyways." We both laughed a little at that, knowing it was inevitably true. You continued to eat you lunch, but I sneaked as many glances over at you as possible. I never wanted to stop looking at you- your beauty really was something. I wish I looked even a little like you.

You complain about your looks, though, saying you're not big and masculine enough, that your voice is too high, and your hair is too long.

I disagree with it all.

I think you don't need to be masculine- you're perfect- nor do you need to change the way your voice sounds because it's adorable, and your hair is luscious and pretty to me. You'll never see it, though, no matter how much I point it out endlessly. I wish you saw it too.

You get all A's, and I'm struggling in most classes. You never play sports, and I'm overly competitive.

You think we are best friends, but I'm completely in love with you.

See the difference?

Endless love,
Kindley.