This letter may come as a surprise to you. You’re a friend of my brother’s, and thus as the saying implies, a friend of mine. It must be a few years now since I met you, and yet I have to admit my ignorance up until late to what makes you essentially yourself.
As I have been becoming better acquainted with you, I’ve found the tidbits of your life to be nothing short of the intriguing character description of a well rounded hero of a classic novel or 1950s film. Facts such as that you work on a ranch, or want to pursue a career in psychology, or that you’re as terrible a dancer as I am, or that you were once a professional mime. These attributes override the actuality of your piercing blue eyes, and that you look nearly irresistible in a deep grey knit sweater reminiscent of my grandfather’s regular duds.
Derek, I feel I must confess – I must admit my wayward feelings as simply as this: I think I’m platonically in love with you.
It’s nothing to get freaked out about. It doesn’t have to be a “not you, but me” situation. I don’t want you to hold my hand or to lie gazing at the stars and talk about what we’ll name the children we’ll one day have. I just want you to be around. I want to talk about our separate goals, dreams, and desires; and I want to know that as I look into your eyes and say these things, that you can see my soul. I want to be in love with you like Romeo and Mercutio, like Laurie and Jo (Little Women, anyone?), or Piglet and Pooh. I want to be the first person you tell when something out of the ordinary rhythm of your well orchestrated life happens, or the one you plan a spur of the moment road trip with, or the person who sits by your side for an evening’s worth of silent film entertainment.
You understand, don’t you? Don’t you long for this too? The relationship without the expectations? The love without the pressure? I thought you would, I felt you had to. Well then it’s settled- let’s go out to a candlelit dinner and split the bill.
Song: From Above - Ben Folds/Nick Hornby