I’m From Denver, CO.

State Satellite overhead image from Google Earth 2022

The letter you’ll never read–

Of all the classrooms in all the colleges in all the world, you had to walk into mine.

I remember with perfect clarity the way you walked in. You made eye contact with me and that was it. I was gone. Before you, I called bullshit on “love at first sight.” Can’t happen, I said… but it did. I knew you were the one right then and there. I was writing a letter to my best friend. Red ink.

“I just found the girl I’m gonna marry. I can’t wait for you to meet her. I guess I should first though…”

I would duck down random hallways… first to avoid you because you made my heart race and my face flush and my communication major brain forget how to communicate at all… and later, after we had muddled through a few awkward conversations, I would duck down random hallways in the hopes that I’d run into you on your way to class. You would smile. And you would always make me laugh. Sometimes I would smile just in the hopes that you would smile back and I could sit and look at it.

Once we became friends, you listened. I mean really listened. You heard everything I had to say and then you did this amazing thing. You spoke greatness into me. You poured out some of your amazingness and let me swim in it. You told me I could do it. You told me I was smart. You told me I was worth it. And for the first time ever, I believed it. You talked me out of giving up on myself so many times. With you behind me, I changed. Because of you, I let myself be smart… and worth it. I’m so damn successful now and it’s not just because you edited my papers and introduced me to people who mattered and taught me things I needed to know… it’s because you sat with me for hours on the phone, or on your couch, or in your truck and talked me through everything that ever hurt me or confused me or made me smile. You talked me into being myself… the best version on myself.

You’re my friend. You’re my mentor. You’re my idol. But you will never be my girl. I hate that. I ache over that. I want you in every way possible. I want your absurd mood swings and your infectious laugh. I want your wine connoisseur, beer guzzling oxymoron self. I want you when you’re crying and when you’re laughing and when you’re thinking so hard you squint. I want to look into your green gold eyes and tell you all of this. But I never will. I want you in my life too much to do that.

I will never forget the nights with you. I’ll never forget the taste of your lips. I’ll never forget the way the second my lips touched yours it felt like coming up for air after drowning my entire life before you. The second you laid your head on my shoulder, my world came into technicolor. I understand love songs because of you. I believe in sappy movies because I’ve held you. I wake up every morning because I know you’re out there in this world.

When I meet a girl, even when I really really like her, I feel bad for her. She’ll never stand a chance. She’ll never come close to you. No matter how wonderful she is… when she walks up behind me and covers my eyes, my stomach will always jump, because for a second, I’ll think it’s you. She could never meet you, even if I wanted her to, because she’d see it in my eyes the second you walked in the room… everyone does. And she’ll never break my heart completely. It will never heal from not having you. Every girl is just some girl after you or some girl before you.

Sometimes I smile when I think about you. Sometimes my heart still races when someone mentions you. Sometimes I pull my car over because a song on my radio makes me cry too hard to see over you. Sometimes I sit across the street from a house I think you’d fall in love with and dream about what our lives could look like- the dog, the white picket fence, the piano in the front room, and the green eyed girl standing next to me cracking me up and proofing my first best seller. But always, always there is a dull ache in my chest because I know I’ll never have you again. Always, always I will miss you. Always, always I will be there. Always, always I will love you. Even if you never fully understand how deep you run in my heart… how much you flow through my veins… how often I have to focus so hard on small daily tasks just to stop my mind from thinking about you. I’m so fucking in love with you it lights me up and bursts my heart all in the same breath.

I want to tell you every cliche in the world. I want to sing you songs and read you poems and hold your hand. I want to be there everyday waking you up and falling asleep listening to your heart beat. I want to kiss you in the rain… or the snow.. or the sunshine. I want to see all of you… the good, the bad, the goofy. I want to clean your glasses and hold your hair when your sick. I want to read everything you ever write, test every recipe you try even when you burn it and let you correct my grammar. I want to catch every sunset holding your hand… knowing that God paints a pretty picture but it will never compare to your beauty. I want to pour over the pages of your life like I would an old favorite book. I want to tell you you’re stunning every day for the rest of your life. I want to make you see your perfection. I want the good and the bad… I want it all. I want you… in every way possible. I want to tell you everything. I write to you and about you everyday… and in my drawer, just like in my heart, I’ll keep these words, these letters, that you’ll never read…


I’m From Farmington, CT. “It was at the airport check-in counter that I first saw him. Sweatpants and a sweater. I can’t remember his face anymore. Waiting to board the plane, all I could do was look at him. It was a mystifying, electrifying feeling. When we were airborne, I would spy towards the front of the plane where he was sitting. When he would pass down the aisle, I would furtively try to sneak a quick glance. When the jet finally landed in Florida, he disembarked first. When my family finally exited the plane, I desperately scanned the terminal, hoping to see him just one more time.”

I’m From San Francisco, CA. “A week later, the pages of my travel diary filled with letters to her I would never send, I got a phone call. I answered it even though it was 11pm in New York and I didn’t recognize the number. She was on the other end of the line and drunk. “All summer I really wanted to kiss you. I guess it won’t happen now butIwantedtotellyouI’llhangupnow.” She blurted out. “Shit.” I responded. She stayed on the line. “Shit. Me too.” There was a long silence.”

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