You have no idea how many times I’ve written this letter, versions of it. How do you tell someone you love them? More than that, how do you convey something that is buried so deeply, so permanently in your heart that you can barely articulate it, even to yourself?

No one understands why I love you, not even I, but there is still something driving me to try to tell you. Mostly, I guess, I’m afraid you are going to take this the wrong way. Don’t, please don’t freak out, because I would never do anything to make you unhappy. Which is to say, I would never be selfish enough to try to break up your relationship (as if I could!)

You have Rachel, who seems to be just what you need. Obviously, she's what you need, because you love her. Watching you run through literally dozens of brief relationships, not to mention mere one-night stands, I used to wonder if you'd ever settle down. Of course, when you did, you couldn't just find a nice girl and be happy, the story had to have a twist. The nice girl had to be married, and have a child. Whew. I would have never had the audacity to try, but you wanted her, and you got her. When I asked you how to win someone away from a significant other, you replied, "You fuck them, good enough that they want to stay."

Well, pal, you must be really good, because she's still with you. Now, a year later, you have a home with her, you’re happy, and I’m sitting across the country eaten up with love, envy, and a little bit of guilt. Love, because of who you are to me; envy, because you have someone perfect for you; guilt, pre-emptively, because I’m too far away for you to run to, should you need refuge.

This is so tricky, because I love you, but I don’t want you, but I do want you, if you know what I mean. Rachel makes you happy, so I want you to be with her for as long as you are right for each other. But I love you too. You have been my best friend for a long time, and leaving you to come to school made me realize that you mean more to me than that, more than I can ever say.

I remember being at the airport, arguing with the ticket agent about my luggage, and bursting into tears. My family jumped to console me, but that wasn't why I was upset anyway, it was because you were not there. You’d promised to say good bye, but when I had called you just before I left your ex-roommate informed me you were gone, he didn’t know where. As the plane taxied I started to bawl again, and kept crying as we took off; as the city lights faded below the thought pounded in my head, I’ll never see him again.

I really believed that. You’d spent that summer tripping, tweaking, buzzing; snorting, drinking, dropping any drugs you could get your hands on. Whenever I called you were either to high to be coherent, or too buried in chemical misery to talk. I remember one afternoon when you were coming down from a few days worth of drugging: you came over and ate half the contents of the refrigerator, then collapsed on the sofa and slept. Sitting on the floor beside you, my head resting on your stomach, I felt so overwhelmingly content. I didn’t resent the fact that you had only come to procure some much needed food, and rest, I was just happy. That’s how it was for most of the summer, you would only come around when your life was getting too out of hand and you needed a safe place to crash. While I loved taking care of you, the rest of my family, and most of my friends, thought I was nuts.

For as long as I have loved you, everyone who loves me has misunderstood it completely. My sister still insists that we were up to god-knows-what on the sly; my mom not only suspects the worse, she thinks you are a selfish little punk who doesn’t deserve my affection. Most of my friends dislike you from a distance, and in general, people think I have got a screw loose when it comes to you. Charges, all, that I don’t care to deny. Yeah, I love you unstintingly, irrationally, but when has love been logical? Sure, you are egotistical, lazy, arrogant, demanding, self-centered, but you are also the only person who really understands me. You can sense my moods, tell me what I’m thinking before I say a word, you know what I feel, and what I need. How can I live without that?

I can’t. But I can’t explain it either. My family, your family, see what you’ve done, and disapprove. They all see your recklessness, boastfulness, willfulness; they see how you can toss people aside, treat everyone but yourself with utter indifference. Frankly, I see all that too, but I also know how you have listened to my spill my guts, how you have backed me up, encouraged me, given me a confidence I would have never found on my own. When there is something on my mind, that I can’t tell to anyone, I can tell you. You’re the mast I tie myself to when depression and confusion threaten to drown me. I’ve always been good at hating myself, at sitting and cataloging every peccadillo, every mistake I’ve ever made, but you know how to snap me out of it. You demand that I stop whimpering and trust myself a little. Maybe it’s just because you don’t like listening to me bitch, but whatever your motivation, it is a lifesaver for me.

It is your brash intervention in my life that has made it bearable, and out of gratitude, I wish I could give you even a fraction of what you’ve given me. But that is not for me to do, it is Rachel who has the privilege of being the one you need. As much as I like her, I’m a tiny bit jealous, because she holds your love. So I can only watch, and love you too.

Again, don’t worry, I’m well beyond wishing I could have you. I love you more than that, I love you so much that all I care about is your happiness. Though I can never be ‘the one’ for you, I will always be here for you. Anything I can give you, I will. You ever want to come crash with me for a few days/weeks/years? Mi casa es tu casa. If you need money, that’s easy, I have credit cards. Want to travel? I’ll go anywhere with you. And you surely know that if you ever need to talk, I will put aside everything and listen for as long as you like.

Conclusions are so damn awkward, I know I’ll send this and promptly think of a thousand things I left out, but oh well. The longest, most eloquent, most brilliant letter ever written could not contain all I want to say to you, it couldn’t carry the sheer volume of my affection.

To summarize: I love you. You have been my best friend, confidant, ally, partner in crime. I’m happiest when I’m with you, and when I get depressed, you are the only one I need. Please, make yourself happy, for my sake. All I want is for you to have a perfect life, and I will do anything to help make it that way. Love Rachel and your baby, take care of them; do not let her go on a whim. Maybe you two won’t last forever, but don’t give up easily; she really loves you, and she’s good for you.

God, I sound like I’m writing a will or something, sorry, but I just want you to know what you mean to me. Because I love you, a lot. There is nothing else I can say: I love you, I love you, I love you.

Love you always...

Cila