The paper rested on his hands, folded neatly. The header was written in bright ink - just like I always start my letters. This time I had wrecked my brains trying to find the right words to start off.
"You've got whatever it is.
You're perfect"
He started to rub his eyes with the palm of his hands just like he always does when he's tired, this time, just a little different.
I sat still, trying to digest the moment. I have never seen him so raw. This raw.
He held on to it and started walking, silently, while I followed closely behind and occasionally placing my hands across his shoulders, smiling. We sat under the shade not caring about everyone else walking by.
"Will this letter make me cry?"
"I doubt so, it's kind of lame"
It started off with a piece from one of my favourite books.
"I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane."
This, I felt like as if I was Pudge, and he was Alaska - with the rest of the letter consisting of how I feel like I was hopelessly boring, and he was endlessly fascinating.
He folded it back in place and looked at me differently, for the first time.
I could hear his voice shaking, as he choked out those words.
"I love you, so much"
