Embarrassingly Thirteen

Pillow Talk

I was in love. It was stupid, but I was in love.

It was his birthday and I had decided to hand sew him a pillow embroidered with his name. It wasn't a very good one, but I loved the fabric I picked. And I chose red thread because it was his favorite color, it was all going to be an amazing birthday. I bought him a card and a huge chocolate bar to go with the pillow, and even a bag to put it in.

I wanted him to feel great on his birthday I wanted him to have at least something. I wanted it to be from the heart. And inside the pillow would be the best part, a picture of the two of us and a love letter. One confessing my feelings. He'd never see it because he cared about me and would keep the pillow safe, not let anything happen to it.

I thought so anyway. I gave it to him at my youth group get together that night. It was perfect because I finished it earlier that day. Of course it wasn't perfect but it was a pillow embroidered with his name. I thought he'd love it.

When I gave him the gift he seemed more excited for the chocolate but told me he thought the pillow was cool. He even told he'd put it on his bed and sleep with it. I was happy at the time of course, because he said he liked it. I didn't care about anything else. I was just in love.

Only one person knew about the letter, someone I thought I could trust. But apparently not, I was told the next weekend by a friend that at the birthday sleepover he had with his guy friends, he was told about the note before I even gave it to him. He knew he was going to get it. And what even hurt worse was that he went home that night, and ripped open the pillow to read the note out loud to all his guy friends and laugh about it. But it still didn't stop me from those feelings.