✎ letter 04

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December 22nd, 2010

Dear Ashton,

Santa's workshop was teeming today. Children and adults had enclosed the entire store, adults yelling for their needs of Christmas presents, children howling for their needs of toys.

It was quite aggravating; working a part-time job as an elf employee in Santa's workshop; watching adults butter up their spoiled children with toys, and hearing the cries of children who felt as if they did not get enough toys. And yet, I must plaster a loving smile on my face that was able to draw in customers. I had to spend my winter break in a rambunctious workshop filled with children.

Perhaps, I was so, incredibly exasperated because the bitter fact that as I grew up, I was unable to receive gifts. After my father passed away, my mom struggled with bills and money. I woke up every Christmas morning to no gifts under the evergreen tree.

Being in such a room that filled me with memories of the grim past was horrendous.

Until you came.

You walked into the room of children with your little brother and every worry and disappointment began to gradually disappear.

I saw you for the first time during the winter holiday. And it felt as if my heart was a star, burning for your passion. But you didn't know me, or anything about me. I guess I could say that you fill me up with complete and utter joy — the way you laugh at every joke, whether it made no absolute sense or even if it was not at all funny. It was the immeasurable bliss of when your eyes glisten with happiness once you spoke of music; your fascination that causes content into my mind. And all I was to you was the girl you sat two desks behind you in your English class.

When I saw you saunter in, my mind overflowed in thoughts and feelings.

Ashton, do you understand?

I carry a colossal of thoughts about you and what we could be; what ifs. And it is peculiar for many reasons; one being that I mean absolutely nothing to you. Alongside, I lug around a tremendous desire to be with you every single day. And I want to see is you, only you.

To my dismay, I fear that one day, you will talk to me, for the words of you had only been engraved into my head, where they belong. Syllables do not belong in reality, out in the open, where they are unable to be taken back. It's not safe.

It frightens me because I feel positive what ifs and negative what ifs. It is a jumble of thoughts. Maybe I'll lose my chance with you because the anxiety wraps my body with pain; and the pain dissolves into sadness; the sadness of losing such a work of art.

And if we one day, we were to fall in love, I cannot grasp the ache that tumbles along with me if I were to ever lose you. Without you, there is emptiness. It is like a book without its pages, or a canvas without its paint.

There is nothing; nothing at all.

And I don't want that to happen.

Love,

Nova

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