The Notebook

I opened the notebook and flipped through the fresh, lined sheets of paper that were bound inside. I flipped back to the very first page and picked up a black pen.

I pressed the pen to the paper and started a letter I would never send.

Dear Gerard,

I think I love you. I don't know how to start this letter any other way. I want to tell you just how much I admire you. Just how perfect you are in my eyes. I really wish I could tell you.

But I can't.

I'm sure you'd understand. You were in the closet once too. Mikey told me.

But you weren't in love with your best friend's brother.

That's why I'm afraid to tell Mikey, though I think it would really help to tell someone. My parents... I know they wouldn't understand, as teenaged as that sounds. I've heard them talking about how worried they are that I spend so much time at your house. They think I'm going to 'catch it' somehow.

They 're the kind of people that don't understand it's not something you 'catch'. It's something you are.

Something I am.

I guess that's why I'm writing this. It feels good to get it out.

Tomorrow morning, you, Mikey, and I are driving up to New York together.

I think it'll help to feel like someone knows and I don't have it just bottled up.

Because, in a sense, it really does feel like you're reading this.

Love,
Frankie