If Only I Had Told Her

by Laura Nowlin

We weren’t touching, but it felt like the atoms between us were warm with my love for her.

This is heaven: her forehead pressed into me, her head under my arm, and my hand on her shoulder. We found each other by instinct.

It is cosmically unfair how beautiful Autumn is. It puts me at such a disadvantage. Her brilliant, goofy brain was already enough. Why must she have a perfect face too?

How am I going to live the rest of my life in love with Autumn Davis with no hope of reciprocation?

My love for her is the closest thing I have to religion. But it’s okay that she doesn’t feel the same. I’m fine. I can handle it.

Maybe you are the two stupidest people on earth who somehow don’t realize you’re in love with each other,

My devotion to Autumn is engraved on my very being. I am in awe of her. I will sit in the stands and cheer her on in life as her most ardent admirer. I know I will always love her in the same way I know I’ll always need oxygen.

Sometimes love is heavy, but tonight it is making me light and free.

“God, Autumn. You’re the ideal I’ve judged every other girl by my whole life. You’re funny and smart and weird. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth or what you’re going to do. I love that. You. I love you.”

If only I’d told her that I loved her years ago, I wouldn’t be here now. Because she loved me. She loved me this whole time.

Except every problem in life has a solution. If you think hard enough, work hard enough, there’s a solution. Right?

It seems so obvious now; it matters which people you spend time with, and it matters how you spend your time, because you don’t know how much you have.

“The only way out is through,”

I’ve learned that life and hearts are complicated.