Dear Cornrow Girl,

To be honest, I have absolutely no idea what in the hell I'm doing writing a letter.

I can barely put together three whole paragraphs for one English essay but here I am attempting to pen my feelings on paper.

But Daniel says I should ‘give it a twirl’ in his strange American accent. He says there's nothing more relieving than pouring everything out onto a mute blank page, so here I go.

I've known you for five years and the one thing that I'm now very sure of is that emotions are such broad, complex things. Untameable, boisterous and unpredictable.

Kind of like you.

Your smile reminds me of the sun, a ball of burning chaos a million miles away and yet delicate enough to cause a bud to unfurl.

Your laugh is like a windy storm, powerful enough to uproot an oak and yet bringing with it the refreshing shower of rain.

You see you're a lot of contradictions and perhaps this is what I love most about you.

The fact that you're the rainbow produced by a hurricane.

I have no idea when these feelings intensified to the point that I can't look at you without wondering whether you'd taste like the flowers whose fragrance clings to your skin like the morning dew on a rosebud.

Which is why I say that emotions are complex things.

Because one minute you're the bane of my existence and the next I can't imagine a day without you.

Yes, I do realize that I'm being uncharacteristically corny but I can't help myself. It's Valentine's day and Daniel is currently falling over himself on what to get for Amarachi, the girl he insists he certainly does not have a crush on.

I don't know, I'm torn as to whether to get you something for the day. A teddy bear perhaps? Or one of those fake roses that line the shelf in the Bookshop?

As always I am indecisive hence this long spiel of a letter that will never reach you.

There's so much I want to write but I must go now because it's late and it's going beyond sad how I'm sitting in an empty room writing to myself, knowing fully well that my roommates are downstairs having fun and I can't join them because I don't feel like watching you dance with other people.

Which is entirely my fault because I don't have enough courage to ask you to dance.

You know, this has been strangely therapeutic. I think I'll try it again soon.

Till then.

Yours Truly,
The Boy at the Back.