Parker. As I'm writing this, I assure you I'm wide awake and am alive and kicking. Because you might not even give me the time of the day once you hear what I'm about to say.

I'm madly in love with you, Parker. I don't care what other people think; let them think what they want to think. All along, I'd thought this was an obsession, as some people would tell me. This constant dreaming of you, the way you race in my mind all day, you being the first thought that comes to my mind as I wake up and you being the last thought I'd ever have before I fall asleep... I was so stupid not to notice this any sooner.

They say that love is when you feel a thousand butterflies exploding in your stomach, that every time you look at that person, you'd immediately feel like taking flight, or just plain kissing the breath out of that person. But I know that's not true.

My love for you is different, some way, somehow. It's like, whenever I look at you, I'd be like, "Oh, dear Lord, he's just so beautiful," and whenever we'd talk, I'd feel right at home with you, never hesitating to show my true colors.

My love for you is indeed different, Parker. You may not make me feel like kissing the breath out of you (okay, I'm lying), or experiencing a thousand butterflies exploding in my stomach, but at least you could make me feel so light and airy, and, well, and happy as well.

I love you, Parker Benedict Stykes. I hope you return my feelings too.