The Anatomy of An Aguamala

He was the first boy I loved absolutely unconditionally, because I was afraid no one else had ever told him how perfect he looked first thing in the morning or how it was sweet when his voice cracked and he grew a full two inches over spring break. I was afraid no one else had told him they loved him, so I decided, for the rest of my life, a part of me always would. I wrote him a letter anonymously and I always regret being too cowardly to sign a name to those sweet words. They weren’t even as kind as I wanted them to be, I was afraid he’d be able to see in my eyes how much I loved him, how my gaze lingered a fraction of a second too long. He’d read my letter and just know it was me. And that thought was terrifying.

It took me a few minutes to pour my heart out but three weeks to pluck up the courage to sign that note. How to you finish something like that? Sincerely? Yours? I didn’t have the courage to write Love,.

I used to sit staring out the window during long car rides and just think, how is it that’s he’s even alive and we’re in the same place and the same time? It’s crazy that I know him and he could be mine. And he probably could have been.