I could, Evelyn, have my heart palpitate for you; I could exist exquisitely for you. I could love you.

I could run up the edges of the steepest mountain ridges for you. I could bring gravel and sand and construct a path uphill for you to step upon. I could rub the highest stone clean with as much sandpaper I could find, and I could bring you there to show you the sunset, the golden and bronze radiance piercing through the swirling autumn leaves in the soft forest breeze. I could paint a picture for you with sparkled dots of red and gray as if the leaves plucked at my heartstrings through the purest of crystals and that is your eyes. 

I could have no words, I could be faltering, I could be staring blankly at your visage in the setting sun, your mouth moving—your lips glowing a tempting apple-red—but only the thumping sound of my own heartbeat comes out. Listen to it, my dear, gently lay your hands on my chest, against my veins and blood, flowing towards you, the ultimate being of perfection and beauty.

I could be touching you, holding your hands—or shyly reaching out my fingers, hoping you wouldn’t find out. I could tell you how much I have missed you in the past months, how I craved the texture of your lips like a desert traveler desperate for water. It could be anyone but it happened to be you, then it’s just you, and I shall blind myself if I were to see anyone else. It has to be you, you, the elf, the angel, the living goddess. 

I could tell you how often I dreamt of you, how gentle and friendly you are in my fantasy, and how suffocating it was to contrast with harsh reality. I could tell you how much I need you, how a simple greeting and embrace could cure all ills; how your reciprocation could grant me such ecstasy, such ravishment, that one could more easily rattle all autumn leaves lose from the mountain forests than shatter my shield of euphoria for you. How could I ever reel if these desires are fulfilled! 

I could tell you how many hours I spent wandering downstairs, stopping at every corner, hoping for your emergence. But I could not tell you I miss you, for I need you to miss me too. I could not bring you up the mountain unless you willingly follow my gravel and sand. I could not love you if my feelings are certain to be unrequited. Better not step in if there’s a risk of sinking in too deep. 

Therefore I forget you, Evelyn. Never have I ever passed again the corridor downstairs where I had craved to see you around the corner. Every morning I took another route, trying to wash away memory by the extra time it takes to get outside. And every afternoon when I return and walk up to the front gate, I would hold my right hand up in a fist, almost knocking, before suddenly realizing I had to go in from the back door. When I stepped on the wooden planks in front of the back door they would make a hollow sound, and I was once again reminded of you, how you walked down the hallway with the same “thump, thump, thump” of your heals. And all my efforts of trying to avoid you became futile. 

I never wanted to stop loving you, Evelyn, I want to share the rest of my life with you. I want to be able to feel your skin every morning I awake and hear your voice every evening before bed. I want to tell you I love you instead of disguising my feelings as a friend. I want to let go of all logical axioms: I crave the presence of you, I want to dream of you, I want you to know how much I miss you and how broken I become without you. But rationality pulls me back and I shall say, I need you to miss me too. 

I had my heart palpitate for you, Evelyn.