I get it. I'm not stupid. And I'm definitely not blind. You aren't the conventional beauty. You know that. I know that. 

Still. 

You are beautiful. And the scariest thing is, with each passing day, I find you even more beautiful. As if that was even possible. But it is. And that's positively enchanting. 

So. Let me list the ways. Let me just attempt to open, at least, your eyes, to how you look to me. How you make me not just feel, but burn

It's hard to even start, because there are so many parts of you that I love. 

You know brown eyes are the most common color in the world and I used to hate my own because they were just so utterly mundane. But then, but then, after looking into your eyes for so many years, it's not just brown. It's warmth. It's comfort. And, I swear, the galaxy above my head, pales in comparison to the unspoken, unbroken, universe that's smothered beneath your brown eyes. 

You don't smile quite often, but when you do, it starts off like the sun peeking out behind stormy clouds, and then when you full on laugh, oh my, it's like time stands still and I'm basking in the brilliance of a sun that's just too damn bright for this world. 

You have a habit of being kind. Utterly and preciously kind. To everyone, but yourself. 

You skip. And jump in puddles. You dance as if gravity didn't exist. And sing like you're a rock star. You learned to cook when you were little because you found it fascinating. You love books because they're more than an escape, they're a portal into different, wonderful worlds.

Hah. And I could go on, but honestly, a big part of me is afraid someone else is going to see just how absolutely wonderful you are and take you away from me. Even though you aren't even mine to begin with. 

More than wanting you to love me, I want you to love yourself. 

-to the boy who believes he's alone in this world

-from the girl who has always been by your side

You're such a happy person and it's so beautiful. It's not just the fact that you have the cutest smile and your eyes light up and become even bluer. The smallest things make you happy and it's so refreshing because I haven't seen this type of joy for a while.

It rubs off on me and after every practice when I'm with you, I can't stop smiling. I've never felt like this before, what is this new type of feeling.

Is it love?

I asked you to send me a playlist of your favorite songs.

This playlist has 53 songs.

I think you think I won't actually listen to them, but I am spending 3.5 hours listening to every single one of them and writing little comments on how I feel about each one.

Because your music is important to you. So, it's important to me, too.

His arms are wrapped around at this moment and he's asleep. I stay up to feel him against me because it feels so warm.

when he falls asleep I always apologize to him, I say 'I'm sorry, I wish I were softer'

sometimes he catches me and says that I am in fact very soft... but he doesn't get it.

I wish my edges weren't so rough that they give blisters, that my insides weren't so rough they could scrape knees. I wish I were softer.

He doesn't seem to mind. his arms are wrapped around me and he's asleep, he hates every man that has broken my heart but thanks them for sending me to him.


you cannot let your life end over a boy

you cannot let your life end over a boy

you canNOT let your life end over a boy

i just wanna believe it

My first boyfriend used this site to confess his feelings for me. Crazy to think that was over 6 years ago.

We were laying in my bed on my 17th birthday. You showed me a poem you had written a few hours before, and had posted to Letters to Crushes. We were just friends then - best friends. But it quickly grew into my first love.

But after we broke up, I used this website to confess my deepest darkest fears. For months, it was my safety. I exposed the scars you had left me. The lies you made me believe about myself.

I disappeared for a while. I would visit every few years. Maybe leave a brief note for a passing fling, or a snarky remark after a failed first date.

In those 6 years I finished college, started my career, and am planting my roots in a city and community I love. Though it felt like it took decades, I have finally found healing.

Over the last year, I finally began to understand that the things you said in our fallout don't define me. The identity you spoke over me isn't true.

And now that I am healed - I finally feel like I am ready to love and be loved again.

I met a guy, 4 months ago. Just like with you, we have quickly become best friends. The feelings I have when I am around him remind me of our earlier days - the adrenaline, the admiration, the warmth. But with him it's deeper, more mature. It feels pure and good. I think it could be the best thing that has ever happened.

But I am not sure he feels the same. I am not sure if it will ever grow beyond a friendship.

So I find myself here again, scrolling through Letters to Crushes, 6 years later - hoping my best friend has left me a letter, confessing his feelings for me.

I'm just saying that if you'd given me your heart, I would have taken damn good care of it.

Last night you wrapped your arm around my waist, and I smiled up at you. After a moment you pulled your arm back, leaned down and asked "You're not uncomfortable with people touching you, right?" And I shook my head, moving your hand back to it's placement. Then you whispered "If I ever do anything at all that makes you uncomfortable, please immediately punch me in the face." I laughed, but assured you I would.

Later on, you walked me to my car...and just when you started to lean in, you stopped. "Wait...is it okay if I kiss you?" I just smiled super big, and pulled your face to mine.

No one has ever been so respectful to me in my life. You make me feel like precious cargo. Thank you.

you don't need to pretend to be strong for me. society can produce all of the toxic masculinity it wants, but you can cry in front of me. it's ok. i love you

It's VERY IRRESPONSIBLE to go around being so cute, you know. You might make someone catch Feels.