Dear Laurel

Dear Laurel, it is January. I have never seen you before. You have sparked my curiosity, but I do not plan to take any chances since our time is limited, so I will watch from a distance. You occupy a great deal of space in my mind. I have noticed you.  

Dear Laurel, it is February. You have noticed my distant stares. I believe I have sparked your curiosity, given that you often reciprocate my admiring gaze. Sometimes I believe you seek me out just as I seek you out, but I cannot tell if this is my imagination or reality. You have become the interesting part of my day. I look forward to seeing you in the afternoons. I am developing a crush on you. 

Dear Laurel, it is March. You and I no longer see each other in the afternoons, which disappoints me. When we pass one another we always lock eyes and I feel a strong bond between us. The way your teal eyes linger on me in those moments send shivers up my spine. I believe you are a piece of who I am becoming. I have now taken a liking to you. 

Dear Laurel, it is April. You have decided to begin asking about me. This both scares and excites me. After months of this, I am unsure how to respond. Maybe this is why I cannot look you in the eyes anymore; I have become nervous and I am deeply sorry. I know our time is limited. Is there another way I should go about this? I apologize for my lack of knowledge, for this is all new to me. I feel a connection stronger than a liking. 

Dear Laurel, it is May. Our time together is coming to an end very shortly, and I will miss you. The reality of you leaving soon has not set in yet; I worry that this will hurt more than I expect. There is no longer excitement in your teal eyes when we see one another. The way you look at me has become full of sorrow, which it saddens me. I wish that our time never had to end; I could look at your eyes until the last sun set. I feel strongly connected to you. 

Dear Laurel, it is June. I have not seen you since the end of last month. I have stopped thinking about you as much, and I am afraid that I no longer feel so strongly about you. I know you may deny this because it diametrically opposed all that I had written before, but this is how I truly feel. This might very well be my last letter. I will always care for you. 

Dear Laurel, it is July. You were right to doubt my feelings; I could not get over you that quickly. I saw you once, and I felt a rush of emotion wash upon me as a wave does upon the shore. I cannot stop replaying the moment in my head. It felt as though you wanted to see me too, but something seemed different about you. I know you saw me as well, for you are impossible to ignore. Did you not want to see me? Am I too hopeful? Has my youth been mistaken for innocence? Does that bother you? If so, I am deeply sorry. I have started to love you. 

Dear Laurel, it is August. I have not seen you in a while. You are leaving soon, I am sure of it, even without you notifying me of your departure. Perhaps it would have been too painful to say goodbye once more. I have physically been away from you, but I have mentally never been closer to you. I understand that you are moving on with your life, but I cannot help myself. I love you. 

Dear Laurel, it is September. Surely you are gone now, and I am sorry I never properly said goodbye to you. Life must be treating you well. I have faith that you will go on to accomplish great things. I hope you still think about me. I don’t believe you could ever forget me. I know I could never forget you. I still love you. 

Dear Laurel, it is October. I have been reminded of you in many ways, and in doing so I have been inspired to take after you. Other people have reminded me of you as well, which frightens me of both my emotions and my future. It causes me to question my feelings although I have seemed to feel this way for so long. I hope you can understand, as you usually do. You still exist through my memories. I remain in a state of loving you. 

Dear Laurel, it is November. I wish to see you, as I’m sure you know. I do genuinely miss you, and I am beginning to wish I did not. There was a point where I was thankful for the time you took up in my life, but now I am not sure. I know you are living your life and I cannot be mad at you for that, but I cannot suppress my emotions any longer. I am angry with you because I still love you. 

Dear Laurel, it is December. Are you home? May I see you? Will you remember me? It feels like an eternity since I last saw you. If I have driven you out of my life, please forgive me. I could not bear to see you in pain at my actions. Do you miss me as much as I miss you? I miss you a great deal, but I am sure you already know that. I fear you may think that I am inadequate to those you have met on your great adventures. I sincerely hope things are well for you. 

Dear Laurel, it is January again. I still have yet to accept that our time together has become something of the past. I constantly ponder the "what if," but I know that I am simply making up stories. I must stop feeding off of those stories my mind so carefully crafts to create an alternate timeline. That timeline is a fixation of my fantasies which are pure fiction. I still care about you. I always will. You were my first love and my first heartbreak.