capital h !

I love you, but you make me cry every single day. It isn’t because you’re mean, selfish, or hateful—you could never be any of those things, even if you tried. It’s because I need you and you’re just not here. We spent almost every day together in the summer, you would tell me how much you loved me and I would twist my fingers through your hair. It was perfect and eternal, but somehow summer ended. I never dreamed that one hundred miles would feel like one hundred years. I miss you so much it hurts.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, fondness makes the absence longer—but I’m afraid length is losing your interest.

I’m a realist. I’m insatiable.

I’m so afraid that you’ll get tired of me—people always do. Eventually they discover that I’m bossy and selfish and not nearly as charming as they thought I was. They always leave me, but you promised you never would. “Have I ever broken a promise to you?” No, but I’m still terrified, so I swear up and down that there’s nothing wrong even when I’m sobbing with my face buried in a pillow. You’re not lame, you’re not a bad boyfriend—actually, you’re the best—I just hate having to compete for your attention. I get so lonely and there’s nothing I can do about it because I’m afraid to tell you. I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong and mess everything up.

I’ve invested so much in this relationship—sleepless nights, guitar strings, holidays, virginity, my class ring, hours upon hours upon hours of driving, and myself—that I can’t imagine what I would do if something went wrong. I would be utterly lost without you.

I will never let you go.