Tweek,
You wonder why I stay the nights. You wonder why I keep you close to me, when there are so many others who could fill the spot. You wonder why I tell you I love you, when you doubt anyone ever could.
No matter what I say, I am ever so sure you will carry on wondering these things.
So I am writing it down right now, to you and only you. You can look at this anytime you want, and all your questions will be answered. You can, of course, always ask me… But this is a romantic thing to do, right? Giving you something to read while I'm away? I wonder too. Would doing things like this make me the perfect boyfriend...or a guy who makes a half-assed attempt to stop watching Red Racer and finally do something productive?
Maybe that is the first thing I would like to tell you; you're already the perfect boyfriend. Perhaps not for everyone, but definitely for me. You're gentle, caring, creative, funny, smart (even if you won't admit it), and hundreds of other things.
But, oh, you do worry, a lot, that you're not good enough, and that your flaws could possibly effect my love for you. How wrong you are, for once. I mean, many would say that wild, messy hair is not an attractive quality, but I find the blonde, somewhat feminine (Sorry) curls that frame your face, stopping just after your ears, your cute, pixie ears, lovely, at the very least. And even more would say that being tiny, and having a first-glance anorexic figure is undesirable, but I find your little, petite body near to perfection, and I'm so goddamn glad that, although you are so skinny, it wouldn't medically be correct to call you anorexic anymore. And some would say brown eyes are a boring colour, but I find the hazel orbs you flash at me to be beautiful. Maybe they would say the same thing, if they knew that your eyes aren't completely brown, and they definitely aren't boring, what with the green specks inside of them, and the somehow lighter ring around them. I guess I just pay attention to detail (or, more specifically, pretty things).
Like you. It seems nothing ever slips from your scrutinising gaze, and everytime I see you just sitting in class, thinking, I wonder what the hell about. You have a whole world up in your mind, filled to the brim with your imagination, from gnomes to zombies, and, being so scared of them, and believing so strongly in their existence, you're constantly on guard, analysing any moves.
But, contrary to that, it took you so agonisingly long to start picking up the hints I was dropping you about having a crush on you, like you were oblivious to anything outside of the supernatural. But I know now that you were just confused, half by the thought that someone could have a crush on you, and half because the fact you were, and still are, very innocent; too innocent to work out fully just how much you turn me on.
Because you do get me hot, but you are so pure, and I remember how that played out, the first time we got together. You were blushing so much I swear I thought you had a fever, and you were shaking more than usual. But it was beautiful. And you were beautiful, too. Sorry for the repeat of the word, but is the only one I can think of to describe it. I remember how you screamed my name, and sobbed into my chest from pain and pleasure. You came undone from my very touch, or a singular thrust, and I loved it. I loved it so much. I love our sex now, but that was the first moment. The first time in my entire life that I knew I would kill for someone, and, not only that, but, die for that person, as well. Obviously that person was you, and I swear to god it always will be.
I love you.
Yours, Craig Tucker.