My love, my dear,

I’ve been watching you all year.

Okay, no. No poems. That is not how to win one’s love. The second line? Creepy.

My love, my dear,

I’ve been waiting for you all year.

That’s better.

Ugh! No poems! I smack my head and repeat it once more. That’s not how you do it.

I’ve been liking this girl for as long as I can remember, at least when I first met her. Her name is Charalandra Guapatama. Very complicated name, but I’ve made sure I memorized it for this special moment.

I start panicking. What if she isn’t a lesbian? I’m just a girl named Carla. Carla Barmudai.

She is way out of my league, too. She’s a senior and I’m a junior. All of the other people she dated were men! Not a single woman to be seen as a love interest.

Maybe a poem is my best bet at this point.

I sigh, placing pen to paper.

My love, my dear,

I’ve been waiting for you all year.

That’s all I’ve got. I smack my forehead. Think, think, think, think, think!

I work vigorously the rest of the night, as tomorrow is Friday, and the last day of school. That was the day, out of all other days I chose to confess.

I roll my eyes at my inability to muster up courage.

My love, my dear,

I’ve been waiting for you all year.

I feel my eyes growing heavy, just my mind chanting this mantra over and over again. My brain jolts me awake before I fell too deep into sleep.

I get up, and go to the kitchen. No need to be quiet, as my parents have gone to a hotel for the weekend. “For a break from the kids” they said.

Sure.

Once I reach the kitchen, I go immediately to the cabinet with the coffee beans and make a cup of black coffee. I ponder my coffee, wondering which way will give the most energy. Black coffee, or sugary coffee? I can’t believe I don’t know this by now, I’ve been making coffee since my sophomore year. Just to be on the safe side, I add sugar and creamer. I take a sip, burning my taste buds along the way.

Dammit! Should’ve waited.

I take the coffee to my room and continue writing my poem.

My love, my dear,

I’ve been waiting for you all year.

Time flies by quick, and before I know it, it’s already 6:30. I read over my poem and decide it’s good. I need to start getting ready so I can leave at 7.

I’ve arrived at school at 7:10, which is 20 minutes before class starts. Charalandra usually arrives five minutes later. I slip a note in her locker to meet me at the book club room, since she’s in that club.

Finally she arrives. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“Carla?” She asks, a soft lilt to her voice.

I’m forced to open my eyes. The only reason she knows my name is because we’ve been together in a lot of partner activities in English class.

I recite my poem:

My love, my dear,

I’ve been waiting for you all year.

For you to notice me,

And be accepting.

What I want to say,

Takes a large amount of being brave.

I’m ready to make my confession,

I hope you make a decision.

I love you,

Do you love me, too?

I open my eyes. And I’m surprised to see Chalarandra softly smiling. I thought for sure she would have been weirded out, or ditched me. But no, she was smiling.

“So… what do you say?” I ask her.

“Carla… where do I begin?” She asks herself. “It was a very beautiful poem, and I’m impressed. I didn’t know you did poetry,” she compliments.

“Oh, I actually don’t, I was just writing this for you.”

“Thank you, it was a sweet gesture, it really was. But I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t share the same feelings as you. I’m straight, and although, you are a wonderful person, I don’t think we could pursue a romantic relationship. I’m sorry,” she smiles apologetically.

My eyes well up with tears and I sniff. It feels like someone ripped my heart out, shattered it into a million pieces, put it back in, and now I have a no functioning heart.

“It’s fine, really” I say, turning away to cry.