the second letter

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Snow. Simon. Si.

You followed me all day today. It was suffocating. You haven't done anything like that since fifth year, and even then I could barely handle it. I could barely manage to keep myself from grabbing you and punching you. Or kissing you. I could feel your magic radiating off of you in frustrated waves. You were making all our classmates and teachers sick with your raw power. Everyone but me. I drowned myself in it willingly, the nausea nothing compared to the butterflies that violently swarm in the pit of my stomach whenever I speak to you. When I let my mind play out the impossible scenarios that I wish would play out between us. When I entertain the deluded fantasies that sprinkle my thoughts.

But I suppose that's just a side effect of love. Maybe that's just how it works. And I'm sure as hell infatuated with you, Snow. There's no doubt about that. Your blue eyes and bronze curls and the moles that delicately decorate your skin. You selflessness that overpowers everything. Simon Snow, you really are something. And I most certainly don't deserve you; not as an enemy; not even as a roommate. That's the truth of it, Simon, my love. Not in my wildest dreams will I ever deserve you, Simon Snow.

With more love than you could ever imagine,
T. Baz Grimm-Pitch

Letters of Unrequited Love (Letters from Baz to Simon)Unde poveștirile trăiesc. Descoperă acum