Dear Hannah,
I'm kind of nervous, writing this. I don't want to fuck with your head or anything. I don't want you to think that I'm just another straight girl who isn't in it for the long run.
You've been hurt before, Han, and I want to help you, not hurt you further. I can see you reading this, all confused. I bet your forehead butt is even more prominent than usual.
Here's the thing. I don't want to be there for you in the sense of 'I'll be over in five minutes with ice cream and talk about trash TV to distract you'. I want to be there for you in the 'I'll hold you, let you cry and tell you how amazing you are until you fall asleep' sense. Do you understand? Probably not.
Oh for fucks sake - I love you Hannah. I love you more than you love wine, or cheese, or Japan. I love you more than those stupid poems you always read, more than you love metaphors, and more than Mamrie loves Beanz. I've loved you ever since the day I met you.
I love the way you'll be thinking that this is a prank, so you'll laugh, just in case there are secret cameras filming you. I love the way your eyes light up in the mornings, and the way they droop when you're tired or drunk. I love your too-large collection of snapbacks. I love you, Hannah.
I promise that I mean this. That all I've wanted to do for the past three years is kiss you, and hold you, and touch you. That you are more than a best friend to me.
Even if you don't feel the same, I had to tell you. You know that I'm usually the emotionally-repressed robot of the YouTube community, but three years is too long to pretend not to love you.
Speak later, Farto?
I don't know,
Grace
