Dear friend,
I’m afraid I didn’t do your eyes justice in my last letter. Forgive me, my brain was malfunctioning at the time, and I wasn’t able to… articulate so much. So, my attempt begins now. Please excuse the faux-poetic quality that the next couple of paragraphs might contain.
Dalton Academy scares me. Or, well, scared me. I stood out, so much more than I already do, in a sea of pristinely pressed navy blazers, straight grey slacks and bright red Dalton crests. It took all of my nerve to tap someone’s shoulder, your shoulder, to get your attention. Then you looked up at me with those eyes of yours, and everything I was previously afraid of seemed so petty, so unimportant because… there were your eyes.
There’s something so completely inviting about your eyes, something that draws me to them. They’re like the light at the end of the tunnel. Something so bright and vibrant, when everything’s supposed to be dark and dull. They’re so big and so expressive, and they smile at me, and…
I’ll try to tap into your brain for a second here. Do you know those days when the world just seems kind of yellow? It happens sometimes when the sun is getting ready to set. Everything- the trees, the grass, the streets, the sky, the clouds, they get a lovely golden hue about them. It makes the scene seem warm at first, but then a cool breeze passes by, and then you’re able to feel heaven for a little while. That’s what I think of when I look into your eyes. Getting lost in gold, and feeling heaven. And when they twinkle… god…
When they twinkle… it’s almost impossible to me, how much they do. It’s like seeing stars across a golden sky, when nighttime hasn’t even started. It’s breathtaking, and stunning, and so, so impossible. I think your eyes are the most beautiful things I never could’ve begun to imagine.
I could look at your eyes forever. I could talk about your eyes forever.
They’re perfect.
…
Oh.
Friend. Huh. Look at that. Friend. Not ‘Dear Seven Billioner’, not ‘Dear ally’… you just skipped that whole ally stage, didn’t you? It just took you two days, and then friend. Just like that.
I never clicked with anyone this easily, you know. I always have my guard up when I meet new people, and it usually takes me a couple of weeks to warm up to someone and let them into my world a bit. It was never as easy with anyone else as it was with you. To think, you were just two hours away from me. Just a two-hour drive to Westerville, and my world would’ve flipped on its axis. Two hours.
We grew close really quickly, you and me. It’s strange… but so, so welcome. I’ve been trying to figure out how that could possibly be, though, and I think I’ve finally found the answer.
It isn’t because you’re gay as well, even though I’ve found relief in knowing that I can finally talk to someone about the things that I couldn’t, even with my best friend, Mercedes. It isn’t that you were bullied in your old school, just like I am now, and that we can relate to each other through that. It isn’t even due to the fact that you kept making heart eyes at me while singing your stupid song about hands on skin-tight jeans. (Although, you’re very much free to look at me like that whenever you want.)
It’s that, three weeks ago, I couldn’t hold my father’s hand like I used to.
I’d put my hand in his, and he’d know just how much to squeeze to make me feel better. I felt safe, holding his hand. Then three weeks ago, he wouldn’t squeeze back. He couldn’t comfort me, and make me all better. I didn’t feel safe anymore, and I thought I would never feel that again. I thought I’d lost that feeling forever. I thought I’d lost my home.
When he woke up, I had to be his rock. I had to be the squeezing hand that he’d feel safe holding. I was completely content to be that for him for a while. He needed me to be that, just like I did, him, for so long. I was fine taking care of him.
And it was so, so selfish of me, but then I started to wonder when the roles would reverse once again.
Then you came along. You, with your stupidly, wonderfully bright, golden eyes, and your face that was made for a smile… You, held my hand. We introduced ourselves, and you held my hand, and… you squeezed. You squeezed my hand when my father couldn’t, and I felt safe again. Even when you were dragging me through your suspiciously long shortcut, I felt safe. I felt at home.
I really hope I get to keep you. I really hope you’re you.
-Kurt