If the sun were torn from the sky, the world would be cold and dull.
No one would want to leave the comfort of their beds, the last trace of warmth left in the world.
When a fire burns out, the room is left dark and empty.
Your smile is my fire, my shining sun.
If the world were stripped of its music and its melodies, it would be far too sad.
A silent, numb place without any happiness to be found, lonely and lacking.
When a person loses something special, their happiness is hard to find.
Your laughter is my something special, music to my ears.
When I see your eyes, aglow with passion and excitement for everything, my heart beats faster than I ever imagined it could have.
The thought of you being upset brings an evil unease to my stomach, unsubdued until I picture your smile again.
I see you in my dreams at night, your soft, surreal hand entwined with mine, your beautiful, cascading golden waterfall of blonde hair falling softly over my shoulders as we lie on the ocean.
I wake up missing you, wishing the dream could be real, wishing I had the courage to tell you how I feel.
The smooth, delicate curves of your body make my heart swell in adoration.
The sound of your voice, even with your awful jokes and terrible teasing, makes my stomach churn, the butterflies trying desperately to escape and kiss you.
I treasure your generosity, your sense of humor, your intelligence.
I marvel at your big heart, your curiosity, your need to please.
I cherish the way your lips curl when you're happy, the way your eyebrows lift when you're sad or worried, the surprising tenderness hidden under your exterior.
I admire your carefree spirit, your neverending confidence, the way you're so sure of yourself. You don't second guess anything, and you don't regret your mistakes too much.
You don't let anything get to you, and for that, and all these other things, I've fallen for you. I used to wish it wasn't true, worrying that it may ruin our friendship, or be the wrong thing to do, but I'm taking a chance, because I can't keep these strong feelings bottled up forever.
Ohara Mari, do you accept my confession?
With love, Kurosawa Dia.
Dia had never intended for it to be so poetic, but she didn't know how else to explain it than with comparisons. She still felt as though this piece of paper couldn't quite capture her true feelings for the blonde, but it would have to do. After all, it had been three weeks already since Dia had begun to write the letter. Finally, she was as satisfied as she'd ever be with it.
Chika and Ruby had been together for three weeks now, and they were still in their honeymoon phase. The lovey-dovey, always together, syrupy sweet stage. The entire group new about it, and everyone was supportive. Naturally, Mari teased them about it, in the way that she would with anyone. When it had first begun, Dia was a little overbearing, used to being overprotective. Around the middle of the second week, she finally came to terms with it. She saw how clearly they liked each other, and Dia was more agreeable, less stubborn about it. They really were precious together. And it made Dia's heart happy to see her sweet sister so happy.
On a different note, she still hadn't figured out how to give the letter to Mari. Should she send it in the mail? Leave it in Mari's locker? Put it in her desk? Give it directly to her? There were just so many options, and none of them really seemed perfect. Dia needed it to be perfect. She felt she had to really impress the blonde, so the other girl understood how strong her feelings were. Perhaps she could orchestrate something, some perfect plan. Oh, yes… this may actually work.