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I'm sorry. I'm not good at this. I feel a lot of things all of the time but they get stuck. They get stuck until they’re too much, and then I let it all out in a sort of violent way. Contrary to our typical behaviors, I don't want to let anything out in a violent way with you anymore. I'm going to try to unstick it. I'm going to try to express everything all down here, as carefully as I can. I want you to understand. I need you to understand.
I think you're beautiful. I think you're so beautiful, all the time. I'll be entirely consumed by something else, and then I'll look up at you, and my breath catches in my throat. Surprise, I think. It’s like I forget how beautiful you are, and then you catch me off guard, intensely. Everything else swims out of focus, and there you are, glowing in all of your stunning perfection. I'm struck. I'm numb. I'm nothing in comparison. I'm floored, all the time, by the fact that you often pay attention to me, singularly. I feel I need to do something to make up for it, to let you know how entirely appreciative I am that you notice me. That I am allowed to notice and be in awe of you. Now, I need you to grasp that this is how I feel when you are just you, effortlessly bored and posh and perfect. But when you smile, I can't even describe. I can't describe how it breaks me down to nothing. How it breathes life into every inch of me when you smile. And when you smile because of something I did, if I said something you found particularly funny and you laugh because of me, I am beside myself. You are perfect all the time and I was floored to discover that even perfect perfection can be made more perfect, still. I had never seen you smile before this year, I’m almost sure. And I am beyond miserable to now have the understanding of what I have been denied, what I have been so absolutely missing, all these years. Misery, pain, and a horrible, unending longing. You have to make it up to me. I really think I'll die if you don't. Or at least I could work myself into becoming violently ill about it. You owe me, really you do. Even now you hardly smile, and I swear to you that I do my utmost to create one at any and all times possible. Did you know that your eyes are actually silver? I’m worried that people may have been telling you that they are gray all your life, but they are, in fact, silver. Molten liquid pools of silver that I would drown myself in, if possible. You have a dimple, too. On your left cheek. I'd like to kiss it. Always. I love when you look at me in your calculating sort of way. I know you're just deciding which walls to put up, and how, and when. I know you're deciding if you can trust me. I know you're wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. But sometimes I really believe, or at least make myself believe, that you feel something, too. I mean, you did kiss me back. I will spend the rest of my life wishing upon every star I ever see that you do it again. Please, Merlin, do it again. You're so witty and clever. I wish I was an ounce clever enough to keep up with you. But I do pride myself in believing I'm not stupid enough to irritate you, either. But you make me laugh. There's always a sort of hint of cruelty behind the joke, whether it be the hook, line, or sinker, but you are charming enough to offset it the perfect amount. Brilliant. Hysterical, I think. I know how truly smart you are. You won't let people see that, either. I don't understand why. I would be proud to be half as smart as you are. I know you'll do great things. Phenomenal. Ground-breaking. I'd like to be a part of it. Or at least be allowed to cheer you on from the side lines. I think you could change the world with that brain of yours. But you limit yourself too much. Behind those walls I hate. You should know, please know, that you don't need them with me. I'd give all the money in the world, I'd cut off a limb, truly, if you could know how you can trust me. I want to give you the world. I want to give you anything. I want to be by your side and hold your hand through it all. I've fallen so hard. I think you're brave, too, you know. I think it was brave to come back here at all. I think it's brave of you to get up, every day, and face them all. I thought it was extraordinarily brave of you to apologize. I think it's brave of you to reject who you were taught to be, and attempt to find yourself on the backend of all of this misery. I certainly haven't. I don't know if I can. It feels easier with you, though. Everything’s easier when I'm with you. Breathing. Talking. Facing the day. Thinking about the future. Thinking about now. Trying to figure out who I am. I'd like for it to feel easier, forever. I’m proud of you, you know. I think you think I look down on you. Or that I've made you into my newest pity project due to my “martyr syndrome” or whatever you called it. I don't. Not ever. I look to you. To brighten my day, to make me smile, to make me think, to make me happy. And if you haven't pieced it together, know this: I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. If you take nothing else away, I love you, irrevocably. I love you. I love you. I love you and I'm in love with you. It's too late for me. I'm too far gone. I'm not asking you to return the favor. I'm not asking you for anything. I just needed you to know. Just to know that for me at least, there can never be anybody else. There never will be. I love you.
All my heart,
Harry