by Clueless Cat
I gave you my letter that night, drunken bravery thrusting it into your hands before crawling into bed and pretending to hide. Peeking, I saw you open it and read it once, twice, until I couldn't watch anymore. The letter spilled the silent I love yous I'd been holding in for months, confessed on paper the reasons I couldn't say out loud. I didn't expect a return of sentiment, and I didn't get it, not then, not that night. Instead, I held you in my arms as you cowered in love that you feared was unwarranted, undeserved, while I kissed the top of your head and cradled you against my breasts, murmuring what I hoped were words of comfort and hope. Time called for you to leave, and one more "I love you" was unreturned, but not for long.
Clueless Cat, 23, has lived in England and on both coasts of the U.S. She currently resides in Hong Kong, works as a writer by day, and loves to curl up with her laptop at night (when she's not out drinking). She's currently hooked on blogging (at twentysomething and clueless), mostly about her quarterlife crisis. She is the author of Pretending to Work on a Saturday.