I hope you're doing well.
          The year we met, I was at a low point in my life. 
      I seemed to be missing a bit of my brain—or of my heart—and I was living aimlessly.
      As fall fell into the spring, my mind grew hotter. I was alone. I didn't have good friends
      because I wasn't a good friend. But, when I hurt myself fortuitously, you bandaged my hand and
      looked into my eyes. And you blushed, and apologized, because I could've done it myself.
      I felt a flutter I hadn't felt before.
          I went home, and the summer passed by. I thought about you more than I expected to;
      you were my favorite of the group, but we weren't close. I couldn't understand why you were
      on my mind. I knew I wasn't on yours during that time. There was a lot going on in your life.
      I thought about you when I thought of me.
          After we returned, we met again at that party. I was excited to see both of you,
      but happiest to see you. You were a lot like me then. You struggled to talk with anyone there.
      I was able to talk to you for most of the night. When you left, I was dissapointed.
          My brother made plans for when we went back up. I was excited to see you. I still remember
      how those first couple of weeks were for me. I loved spending time with you. I loved seeing you.
      You were closer to him, then. I was envious, I think. When we cried together, I felt like I finally
      had someone who cared. 
          I think those next couple of months contained some of the highest points I have ever reached.
      We spent nearly every day together. I couldn't get enough of you. I thought you felt the same. 
      We flirted, and we kissed, and we grew closer than I had to nearly anyone else.
          At the same time, I couldn't read you. I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know if it was
      real, or if it was extraplatonic fun. I thought about you. I wrote about you. I dreamt about you.
      I wondered if you did the same. We planned that group date. I knew I wanted to go with you. 
      When it worked, I still didn't know what I was. I didn't know what to do that night. 
      I was nervous, and confused. It's funny to think I literally bored you to sleep. 
          I was confused when you starting showing interest in her. I went back and forth in my head,
      wondering if I lost my chance. Again, I was envious. You seemed to like me less, but I didn't
      know if I could trust my head. By mid-October, I convinced myself I was good. 
          I did a tarot reading that night. It gave me The Lovers. I had drawn the same card for four
      days in a row. I don't really believe in the cards, but sometimes when I think back now I wonder if it
      was reversed.
          I remember I was needy. I wanted to talk to you, but you were talking to her. 
      I made a mistake, trying  to drop a small hint. I told the host I drew The Lovers for him, 
      and he told me it was for me. He asked who. I wouldn't answer, but we all knew. 
      You fell silent and went to her.
          You didn't talk to me for a month. I counted the days. I remember thinking that you hadn't spoken to me
      for a third of the time that we had been close. I felt lonely for other reasons. I felt worse for you. I felt
      guilty for betraying you. For being like everyone else. I hadn't cried in three years. I cried. A lot.
          I meant everything I said in the letter I gave you. You were my closest friend. You were the person I liked
      the most out of everyone I had met up to that point. Romantically and platonically. When you texted me 
      a pressure was lifted—a suffocating, crushing pressure.
          We were friends again—just friends. I tried to be happy with that. I was. I loved spending time with you,
      and I didn't need anything more. I wanted you to be happy. I watched you date other people and I was glad
      you were able to find people that you liked. I was happy with what we were, but two things can be true at once. 
\        I felt like I was getting closer to you than I had ever been when we would be alone in the
      kitchen. I could speak as I wanted to. You could speak as you wanted to. We shared our poems, and
      you were embarrased by yours, but I loved them. 
          You went to Oregon with her. You kissed her at our party. She slept in
      your bed. At the same party, he told you he wanted to be with you. You reacted differently to him than
      you did to me. You considered him. He had a chance. He told me in private he was more attractive than 
      me. In my eyes, you proved him right.
          When the marathon came around, I was envious again. You invited her; you still felt the same
      way about her after all these months. It hadn't changed. I found out you were going out with him, too.
      You told me he was the only person that listened to you. I melted.
          They both broke things off with you at about the same time. You wouldn't commit
      to either of them. You said you didn't care, but were jealous when they started
      dating other people. 
          The summer came by, I moved in, and I was lonely. You knew it, and you tried to get me to date people.
      I didn't have people to date. I don't attract people like you do. I explained that no one had ever
      felt that way about me. You answered with a tone of voice told me you maybe really did like me all those
      months ago, when I couldn't figure out if you did or not. Somewhere, I ruined it. I tried to understand what
      was wrong with me. What you didn't like about me. You told me you would have, if I wasn't a
      friend. You didn't want to ruin our relationship. I didn't believe you, because I'd seen you
      date both of them. You told me you would have, if you hadn't just gotten out of a relationship. I
      didn't believe you, because you'd been dating people the whole time. I gave up on trying to get a
      reason that I'd believe.
          I think during those months we grew closer than we'd ever been. 
          I think it was during those months when I realized I loved you.
          When the academic year started, I met a girl a class who liked me. She was the 
      first person in my life  who had ever truly felt that way about me. It was exciting.
      I started going out with her around the same time you started going out with the new guy. 
      When I thought about her, I thought about you. When I was with her, I wanted to be with you. When I
      kissed her, I wished it was you.
          You told me, out of everyone, he was the only one that you ever actually liked.
          I found out later that, on that first night that I remembered so vividly, 
      when you bandaged my wound, and you looked at me like 
      you were entranced by something beyond my eyes,
        you were just high.