www.whyville.net Jul 4, 2010 Weekly Issue

Guest Writer

Dear Andrew

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Author's Note: Name has been changed to protect his privacy.

Dear Andrew,

You make me just smile. You are my best friend. I can honestly say that. Sure, I told Nathan he was my best friend, but then I met you. You make me laugh, and can be sarcastic with me (one my my best attributes I might add). Nathan didn't get sarcasm. He took everything seriously. You don't. You know exactly when to be serious.

All those times we chatted with each other online are the highlights of my day. We can talk about anything. Including pies, and pizza. When I spilled my heart out to you at the park, you just sat and listened to me. You looked at me in the eye while I blabbed. Your warm blue eyes connected with mine. Your eyes should me that you cared what I talked about. They showed you were sensitive and kind.

I told you about my worries and how my friends just couldn't get along with each other. I had to play the part of a school counselor. I told you everything that was going on in my life. Everything, except how I felt about you.

You told me that I did a wonderful job at being a counselor to my friends. You also said you were glad that I told you what was bothering me because lately, I wasn't acting like my normal bouncy, happy self. I just had nodded and said I was glad also. But, on the inside it was a different story. My love for you was starting to bubble up and explode. I wanted to tell you I loved you, but I didn't. I am afraid what you'll think. We are buddies, not lovers. It's just my teenage girl hormones, I tell myself. But no, it's something different.

My heart skips a beat when I see you or you become online. A window pops up displaying your message. You type a typical greeting such as hello, and ask how I'm doing. I become excited; I want to talk to you. I immediately stop what I'm doing. I don't care if I'm in the middle of an email or checking Whyville. This is what I want to do -- to talk to you.

We spend hours just talking to each other. Talking to you is something special. We have a connection. I know you feel it as strong as I do. Call me stalker-ish, but I check constantly if you're online. I check my email more often than I should. I don't read the forwards my friends send me anymore, I just answer their emails, and of course, yours.

Your name is music to my ears. When I hear your name, I seem to listen more. I don't call you by your real name, I saw a nickname that someone gave you in fifth grade. No one but me calls you that. When you tried to think of a nickname for me, I just laughed. Annie-McMuffin, Annie BoBannie, and a few others just made me laugh. You laughed at your ideas and told me that all the nicknames you had thought of were actually longer than my real name. I just shrugged and said it didn't matter because you would forget to call me that anyway.

You don't know how important you are to me. You probably will never will anyway, because I'm too big of a wimp to tell you. I'm afraid if I told you, you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore. I would die if that ever happened. But, maybe, just maybe you feel the same way about me. But, I'll never know.

I love you, but you don't know it. Just like to say that. I love you.

Your love-stricken friend,


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