Dear Arabella,
Do you think this is weird? I mean, who handwrites letters nowadays? And stupidly enough, I don’t know where to begin. For your kind information (because I know you’re a curious little thing), I’ve started this letter exactly eleven times.
Eleven times – like the eleven kisses I gave you on our first date.
Maybe eleven is our lucky number.
See, I’m already messing this up. Because now, all I can think about are your sweet lips on mine and how good your soft body feels in my arms.
I remember the taste of peaches on your lips. Maybe that’s why I’ve been eating so many peaches lately; just to be reminded of you.
I always thought young long is stupid. So if you ask me when it started or how it began, I don’t know.
Maybe it was the moment we met, when I knew I’d willingly drown in your pretty eyes.
Maybe it was when I first saw your smile. There was something mischievous about it, but so goddamn beautiful.
I’ve always been oblivious to the world around me; careless in my observations. Because nothing felt important to me. But now I’m noticing things I’ve never noticed before about someone.
You love your ice latte with exactly three pumps of vanilla and one pump of caramel.
You prefer your romance novels with happily ever afters, but I also see the way you’re enthusiastic about Shakespearen tragedies.
You’re allergic to strawberries – I know because I saw the red rashes after you accidentally ate that strawberry tart.
You specifically love the mixed colors of the sunset sky, but you don’t have a favorite color.
I notice the way your laughter reaches your eyes when you’re happy and I saw the way your smile withered when I asked you to stay.
You’re scared of falling in love.
And I’m already drowning in it, sweet Arabella.
Young love is stupid.
First love is reckless.
And you’re both for me.
So, what I’m trying to say is that… I’m stupidly and recklessly in love with you.
Don’t run.
Come back to me.
Give us a chance.
Yours always,
Elias.
