Does this feel weird? Yes.

Bad? A big yes.

In a good way? Oh my god, yes!

I’m showing you this a few hours later, after our first anniversary. You can blame my anxiety for waiting this long to let everything out. I needed a real affirmation that you are really mine at this moment.

The beginning is uncertain to me. Is it absurd to say it was the moment I found out you love cats?

It's hard to believe that I would fall in love with you so quickly just because we both like the same song, isn't it?

Probably, I might have fallen for you on a more meaningful-serious occasion, but I can’t lie that my heart skipped a beat at those random facts like a hopeless-in-love teen.

I remember a certain snowy night with the darkest sky holding the waning crescent moon alone without a single star. On that rough day, I walked away from a question that hurt us both.

“You aren’t pushing me away, are you?” You asked in a bitter tone, eyebrows knitted above your narrowed cat eyes that held pain, hope, and love all at the same time.

You were right; I was trying so hard to push you away.

The words stuck in my throat that day as my eyes threatened to break my façade if I tried to utter any, leaving me with the only act I could do was turning my back on you to deal with my unresolved mixed feelings of hate and love instead of messing us up.

I had three reasons to hate and love you, three.

 

I hate you.

 

The first time was the first time our eyes locked across the crowded hallway of our first shared class. The college student version of me was intimidated by your cold, stern look, arms crossed as your broad shoulders rested against the wall next to the classroom while your wireless headset messed up your black mullet hair.

I saw the high walls polished with warning red signs you built around yourself, and I hated it.

Your mysterious aura and the invisible borderlines were triggering enough to make me run away and never deal with you again.

That was probably the reason I avoided you most of the time back then. I was afraid of stepping on an attachment-ticking bomb, losing you on the second. However, that didn’t stop me from sitting at the end of class to steal some glances at you. It was your fault; you made everything look mysterious and precious to waste everything in life except your hate for college.

 

I hate you.

 

The reason was pure jealousy. You read it right.

I remember clearly; it was a Tuesday of my second week at work, when you stepped foot in the meeting room, sitting down on the opposite side. It felt surreal how our fates intertwined once again to meet after graduation, even when you made me curse our fate seconds after.

Your flawless presentation that day was a glorious reminder of how self-disciplined, confident-organized freak you are, 180 degrees from my messy-lost self. Yet my hatred had a bizarre, unexpected turn of too much respect that I looked up to you for fixing my messed up ugly habits.

 

I hate you.

 

The last time I wanted to scream these words was on the 27th of December last year. I almost wrote you a letter like this one, spilling over my failure to let you go with the most dramatic, silliest words anyone could ever type. It literally started like this:

“2021 has been the year of seeing different sides of you, loving you dearly before disappointing you, and letting your effort and my love for you go in vain. I chose to observe how fictional you are from a distance. Bye forever”

Was it dramatic using the word “Fictional”? Yes.

Did I seriously write “BYE FOREVER?” I’m sorry for being a drama queen but, yes.

It was your fault though... because I still remember why I wrote that after the worst week of my life. The week I realized we might be so different, the week my expectations of getting closer went downhill to the very start point of being strangers, and most importantly because you triggered my anxiety so much that I was so embarrassed to meet your eyes after breaking down continuously in front of you.

Was my anxiety triggered because I was afraid of falling for you or losing you?

Can you look at someone like me when you are so perfect? I guess not.

Ignoring the answers got back at me worse than I thought because every day we saw each other felt like a hell nightmare masked with an imaginary happy fairy tale waiting for me to get deeper before showing me the ugliest reality.

To say the complete truth, the haunting nightmare started with that scary realization.

 

I don’t deserve you.

 

My eyes caught yours during one of the meetings, body rendered on its lace, frozen with only a gasp threatening to escape my throat from the sudden revelation of what’s behind your expressionless face. The moment you let your guard down, reading me like an open book made me overwhelmed, scared that you would run away if saw through me the ugly hidden side.

Not to mention that I was going through a mid-twenties self-crisis that mainly included self-hate, anxiety, and overthinking. The big three led me to the worst depression and had me breaking with fear of looking at you as a savior from my misery, not as a man I want to cherish forever.

I cried every time I forced myself to push myself away, but I wanted to make sure I’m okay, getting over my crisis, and leaving my mess behind. I fought the urge to throw myself in your warm embrace that would have taken my demons away. My fingers trembled every time I slid your name red, just to protect you from a toxic dilemma.

 

I tried hating you dearly; I hate you.

 

I spent days and months doing my absolute best to hate your guts to the point of choking if we breathe the same air. Nevertheless, you made it so hard for me by effortlessly being you.

I would tell myself that you are ignorant, selfish, proved by 99% of our colleagues and you would attack me by helping me out, leaving me wondering why anyone would be called selfish when you would stay hours or days just to help a stranger like me.

I would chant to myself in front of the mirror, mocking your cold voice and serious frown with your wolf-knitted eyebrows, only to blush with a wavering heart over the memories of your soft voice accompanied by the warmest, thin smile anyone could ever see. I hate you for making me love you even more.

Writing to you this means that my hatred has never been real and looking up to you is magical. It means that your fictional far presence motivated me to do better, your infinite debts (efforts) challenged me to do better to repay them one day.

 

Thank you for everything.

 

 

 

Remember the day I was so nervous, but you tried to distract me with a funny situation? I have this day marked on my calendar.

With all respect to your sense of humor, the situation wasn’t hilarious enough to be engraved in my memory, but the new sides of you I witnessed that day were memorable. My worry vanished away as I got lost between your smiles, glowing warm eyes, and lullaby voice.

You can smile like that?

Your eyes are so alive?

How can your voice have this twisted duality? Cold as ice with strangers and Sweet as honey with me?

It was the first time I felt the spark between us as the intellectual minds got connected. Soft long gazes with smiles, and small laughs were shared. On that special day, my heart pounded without fear.

Feelings might be mutual.

Is that what they call: “plot twist: he likes you too.”? And what a beautiful plot twist that turned out to be true.

.

.

.

 

I love you.

 

I said these three exact words to you after you confessed. But uncoincidentally, I almost said them three times or maybe more before that lovely dinner date.

It started with almost a frustrating yell at your face during that ugly fight when you were overly jealous. It’s time for you to admit it. I was obviously head over heels over you and you felt the same way, a proper reason to believe that I was just being nice to your married best friend, not sharing giggles and other stupid things you have in your head. I was desperate to end that fight with “I LOVE YOU, IDIOT. CAN’T YOU SEE?” and pillow at your handsome face, but I held it in.

 

I love you.

 

The second one was also a scream that I failed to hold, but luckily it was muffled by my pillow. It was at that time we were texting with our favorite song in the background, and you dropped this dangerous message.

“You are too naïve for this real er world that I want to protect you even more. I’m always watching because I care about you. If I ever missed something, call me. I will listen and help you till you get through it. I’m here for you, always.”

Despite my confusion and the daily repeated question if that was a friendly gesture or more than that, it was very heart throbbing, special, and warm to receive that from the famous cold prince.

 

I love you.

 

It came out as a whisper hushed by your scarf that you gently put around my neck before warming my hand with yours; I loved how our fingers clasped. Your gentle thumb over mine made me feel the beauty of winter-snowy walks more than ever.

 

I love you.

 

Damn, I love everything about you. I’m so lucky to have you by my side, be your safe home and your purest source of worry. Thank you for opening up to me, showing me who you are and how perfect and warm you can be.

Thank you for every little help, sweet word, warm hug, pat on my hair, and soft forehead kiss. You have been the brightest star in my life. I can’t live a day without seeing.

I will end this with my daily reminder:

You are perfect the way you are, and I love you to the moon and back, my cold prince.