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"We've known each other long enough for you to know that I'm not eloquent translating my feelings into words. I've joked at all the awkward ways I'd ask someone to date me, that is if I were to ask. The reality is you're the only one for me. We can't be together; you know that as well as I do. My parents wouldn't agree and I can't say I can't blame them.
You? You've never kept a paying job, no plans for college, you're too quiet and often cold to others (sometimes even me). Face it, the relationship wouldn't be accepted by my family or others. True love is supposed to conquer all things. But does it really? The whispers, the looks of disgust, the snickering and ridicule, the flat-out rejection. Here am I admitting that I can't handle the thought of it. Maybe I'm just a coward I am a coward. You wouldn't bat an eyelash at any of that, would you? You'd want me and love me despite it.
The truth is you're always there for me. From my darkest of nights, in the most desperate of times, you're always there. Whenever I'm down, you the one right beside me, in the kitchen with a gallon of cookies-n-cream froyo allowing me to talk it out until I feel better. Unlike others you don't try to 'fix things', or 'fix me', you just listen. You're my calm in the storm. You quiet my self-doubt and fears, you know just what to do when I'm stressed out, I never fear I'll disappoint you or let you down; that you'll be ashamed of me. In all these years you've never made a critical comment about my appearance nor have you ever said I need to lose a few pounds. And really isn't that every girl's dream?
It makes ashamed we rarely discuss your issues, I don't want to be a burden or make you think I don't care. Here I am caring far more than you could ever know. I don't know what your perfect date would be. Candle-lit dinner? A movie? A massage? I'm too scared to ask. What if it makes our friendship awkward?
My perfect date? Is always us alone, the kitchen illuminated only by the buzzing light over the sink. Food? I'm not picky. I'd heat up a frozen lasagna with a box of chocolate eclairs for dessert. We'd talk about everything. Somehow I'd encourage you to share more about yourself, not allowing you deflect. The evening would end with me confessing how much you mean to me, my life and my future. You keep me going, make me feel alive, I'm drawn to you like a wall-sized magnet. At night you make your way into my dreams. Why do my checks flush admitting this to you?
I stop. The truth is I can't go through with this. No way am I brave enough to tell my parents ... 'I'm in love with our fridge.'"
