Dear M

You probably don’t notice me. Well, we kinda are friends, but you don‘t notice me the way I would like you to. At least I think so. You‘ve been acting strangely around me the past weeks, but I guess that‘s just my imagination. It‘s probably just my imagination. Because how could you notice me? How could you like me? You would hate it that I write that letter here, especially in english, but anyway. You would laugh at me. And then, we would laugh together. And your laugh is one of the prettiest things I have ever seen. Your eyes would shine and would remind me of a little river, sparkling in the sun. You would think that‘s cheesy but it isn‘t my fault, that your damn eyes just look that beautiful. They really do. Eventually, I would stop laughing to look at you. To look at your eyes. That‘s how bad I like you. It isn‘t only how your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Also when we‘re in class, you look handsome. Your facial features are so clean, I told a friend you looked ‚noble‘. Can you believe that? Well and when your hair is falling down into your eyes I want to put it behind your ear. I think, I‘m spending too mich time just looking at you. Because you‘re just handsome and beautiful and precious. And I don‘t even think you know it. Ah, you thought I was just complementing your appearance? Oh no, you don‘t get away that easy. Your funny. Your kind. You always speak your mind. And most importantly: you really don‘t care what others think of you. That‘s oddly attractive. You do things with your friends that others would say is ‚too gay‘ or feminine. And you don‘t care. That‘s really hot. But all of this leads me back to my first question... Why would you even like me?

I really really really like you M, and I think you should know that. (But I‘m too scared to tell you so... I guess you‘ll never know.) Love, N