Dear Niall,
June 30
Remember when we were in the seventh grade and we waited and waited for a Christmas break that seemed like it couldn't come fast enough? I do.
We sat together in my living room next to my fireplace with a fire that no longer burned brightly and had been reduced to black dust and a dim orange glow. You sipped your hot chocolate and it stained your top lip and I giggled because I said you'd finally grown a little bit of facial hair. You stuck your tongue out at me but laughed anyways.
You asked me that night if I thought I'd ever love anyone and I remember so distinctly the way I shrugged my shoulders and breathed in the now familiar scent of confusion and uncertainty and said "No, I don't think I ever will."
That really wasn't what I meant, though. What I actually was trying to say is that I don't think anyone would ever love me. If only I'd suspected just how very right I was.
Louis doesn't love me, Niall. I'm not exactly surprised. I really don't love me either.
Love,
Elle
Dear Elle,
June 30
Remember when we were just two little kids? I do.
I remember when we were six years old and I teased you about your footy pajamas and you cried. I apologized exactly eleven times before I realize that you weren't crying, but rather laughing. It took me a second to see that you'd never really been crying at all, you just wanted to trick me.
I slept over at your house, just like I did most nights, despite the fact that we had school in the morning. That night was different though.
I layed in my palette on the floor next to your bed and tried to synchronize my breathing with yours. You told me you thought I was brave for laying on the floor, what with monsters living underneath your bed and all. I crawled in the bed with you and fell asleep there.
I never thought I'd find another guy in that bed, but I did.
Love,
Niall
