Letters

August, 5th

To Francis

I need to tell you that I lied to you in the first letter I wrote to you. In reality I have too many things I want you to know. I just can't put myself to say them. Now I'm writing this to get all these confusing thoughts in some kind of order.

I told you that hate is all the two of us share together. That was not completely true, either. There is hate between us, but there is something else, too, something much stronger than the hate. You said what it is: love.

I know I have been trying to convince you otherwise, that I've been telling how a nation can't love. But I didn't mean it. I just had to find a way to protect myself. Because no one can hurt me like you can, and no one wants to get hurt, am I right?

Then again, no one can love me like I know you could.

I fell for you already a long time ago. Was it when I saw you standing in the pouring rain, soaked and laughing from the bottom of your heart? Or perhaps I realized it when you once playfully knelt in front of me, offering a crimson rose. I'm not sure. But the thing is that I can never have you. I can never truly have you, no matter how many times you would kiss me or whisper sweet words in my ear. I can't take it. It just hurts too much to know that your smile will never be meant just for me and me only. To know that there is nothing inside you that you cherish for no one else but me. And despite that fact, I have found myself helplessly trapped in you. I can't believe I'm really going to say a cliché like this, but you have my heart in your hands, and it is left to your mercy.

I guess I'm just trying to say that I'm in love with you, Francis.

A moment ago I said that I can never have you. But what if, by some chance, what if... I keep hoping, but I don't have enough courage to ask you. The higher you reach, the more it will hurt when you fall.

I'm not quite sure if I managed to make my point, but it doesn't matter, anyway.

I'm not going to send this letter. I will close it in the envelop that has your name and address on it, and I'll put it into my desk, among those letters you have sent me. And I will be hoping that one day you'll find and read it (it would not be the first time with you exploring my personal belongings; I'm counting on you, Francis), so that you would get to know what I want to tell you more than anything, but what I'm not able to express you by any other way.

Always yours,

Arthur

X

Author's note: I have written a sequel to this story: All We Need is a little Love. :)