A Letter For Stella

By Lily

Heart and Arrow Separator

You were always really great at complimenting people.

You could make anyone smile, and you always did. Whether we were just walking down the street or having dinner with my family, you made someone feel great about themselves.

The first day I met you, you told me how much you liked the way I made eye contact with you when I asked you a question.

I thought about that for the next 5 months. The next 5 months when you moved in with me and everything got so much better. Coffee tasted better. Clothes looked better on me. My handwriting got neater. I got better at accepting compliments, and it was because of you.

When you walked into a room I couldn’t physically help my face as it grew into a smile and made my cheeks hurt as it nearly reached my eyes.

You weren’t even conventionally pretty but I still thought you were the most gorgeous person to exist. You had a nose that fit perfectly onto your face, even though it was quite large. You were always smiling so it kind of compensated I guess.

And when you thought someone was annoying and you were too polite to leave or say anything you did this thing where your nose would kind of scrunch. It looked like you were just smelling something funky. It was almost comedic to see you do it when you met my cousins.

Your words were so nicely placed and spoken that it put me in a state of awe when you talked aloud. It felt as though someone had taken the unreleased work of Allen Ginsberg and placed it into your head, only to be said by you and make everything feel pretty.

I miss you.

My room feels colder because your smile doesn’t warm it up anymore. I hate being complimented, but it’s not like anybody does it like you. No one could.

I miss your voice so much that when I heard the voicemail from you last week I couldn’t help but go to you. When I’d realized that it was from months prior I had already been told by you that you didn’t know what I was talking about and had sat in the yellow taxi. I couldn’t hear anything but your voicemail as it played loud in the back of my head, right where I kept all of your compliments.

“Ciao amore, puoi venire stasera? Fa freddo senza le mani. avrò il tè pronto, potresti portare quei dolci di ciliegia dal tuo armadietto sotto il fornello, quelli di quando siamo andati dalle tue mamme. Ci vediamo allora, ti amo.”

Unrequited love, a love unknown.  Read more secret love letters from other admirers and lovers.