Dear Miguelo,
I'm not sure how to begin without my hand trembling a little or my heart striking an ache, but maybe that's alright maybe it means these words of mine are true.
I've carried them in silence for some time now, and perhaps this letter is the only way I can let them breathe.. the only way I can let my feelings travel.
Do you ever notice how certain people leave traces of themselves behind in the simplest moments? That's what you've exactly done to me. You've woven yourself into the ordinary.. my ordinary and normal life, until nothing feels entirely ordinary anymore.
A familiar laugh in the hallways makes me turn my head, giving me hope that it's yours. A sunset glow spilling through the classroom windows makes me think of the way light always seems softer when it touches your face. Even the quietness, when it falls heavy at the end of the day, makes me remember that the silence between us is never empty, it feels full, alive, like a secret only we share in our hearts.
It took me some time to understand what this meant for both you and me. At first, I thought it was just admiration, because there's so much in you worth admiring like yourtalent, works and even your face. You have a steadiness I can't explain, a way of carrying yourself that doesn't demand attention, but earns it all the same time.
You don't speak to be heard butyou speak to be understood. And you listen in a way that makes people feel as though their words matter, even the clumsy ones, even the broken ones. I think that's rare, Miguelo. And maybe that's why being around you feels so different because with you, I don't feel the need to pretend.
And then there are the smaller things, the ones you'd probably laugh off if I told you. The way you roll your sleeves when you're focused. The way you tilt your head slightly when you're trying to listen carefully. The way your laugh escapes suddenly, unpolished and real, turning the most ordinary moment into something I find myself replaying in my mind like a broken record. You make the little details unforgettable, as if they were painted into me without asking for permission. Like they were already embedded before you even arrived.
It's strange, isn't it? How someone can become the quiet center of your world without ever trying. How a single presence can make days lighter, softer, and worth holding onto. You've become that presence for me, though I'm not sure when it happened. Perhaps it was always there, quietly growing, waiting for me to notice.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: knowing you has changed me. Not in a loud, dramatic way, but in the kind of way that lingers in the way a song gets stuck in your head, in the way a scent makes you remember home. You've become a part of the rhythm of my days, the thought I stumble upon when everything else grows quiet.
I don't know what you'll think of these words, or if they'll even mean anything to you. But for me, they mean everything. Writing them is both terrifying and necessary, because carrying them alone has become heavier than letting them go.
So, I leave these thoughts here with you, Miguelo. Not as a question, not as a demand, but as a truth. A truth that has lived quietly in me for so long, it finally asked to be heard.
Always,
Your friend, Rosie