Dear Layla,
At 10 years old, it took me 3 weeks. 3 weeks of being a 10 year old to feel the first flutters in my stomach.
It took me 3 weeks of summer to run out at every opportunity just so I could see, talk, play with this new friend.
How was I at 10 years supposed to know what a flutter was? He made me as happy as candy did, and so I chased my candy.
I turned 11 the same summer.
It took me an entire year of being 11 and an entire of being 12. 104 weeks to realize that this flutter was very very different from candy flutters.
Candy was easy. No tears. And guess what? It didn’t matter how stupid you were in trying to get candy, you won’t regret that even when you’re 20. Or 80.
Once this had been identified, we became best friends (or so we named each other)
We spent hours on our respective balconies to get a glimpse of one another. Weeks consoling each other when something went wrong and months fighting for nothing at all or memorizing clothing patterns off by heart. Friends always did this stuff for each other, right?
Then, he introduced me to this emotion/word called love.
And I ran, as far as I could and as long as my feet would go on from away from this.
It was such a big word and with big words came big responsibilities and my arms and hands were too small for such big words. I couldn’t possibly imagine holding them safely.
I spent all of being 13 to 16, running away and towards the same thing I was running away from because it was inside me. And the more I tried to destroy it, it came stronger destroying me in turn.
I’m 20 today, believe me, you don’t have to hold it, it’s an experience and you cannot stay away from it.
So experience it, but not so much that it destroys you. Scars are stories. Destructions smell like gun powder and bullets that don’t do any good only take lives away.
From,
Someone that loves you immensely.
The Stardust Elephant 