Truly, Madly, Deeply You Book Tour: Author Guest Post

Confessions of a man (Frey), secretly in love with his best friend.

The first time I met Liese, I was thirteen, and so was she. Liese had just moved to Vienna, all big brown eyes, curly hair and timid – well, that was the first impression I got when I first laid eyes upon her, while sitting at the back of the math classroom.

Boy, was I wrong! She was far from timid. With curly hair sticking out in all directions, a wide mischievous smile and twinkling eyes, she was… the other part of me. I was infatuated with her. Whenever her eyes focused on my, I’d feel as if Spring and Summer just got married, and gave birth to this wonderful ‘Sprimmer’ baby:  refreshing, intoxicating and utterly beautiful. My heart would hammer inside my chest, and my stomach would get this fluttery feeling. I’d scoot away from her, so afraid she’d hear my heart’s pounding and laugh at me. Best friends’ hearts weren’t supposed to react that way. Or so I thought.

At some point, I stopped caring. I wanted her to hear it, to feel it’s maddening pace.

Before you go thinking that after finally making Liese mine, I’ve stumbled down the “wuss-ish alley” – I can still take the knocks and roll with the punches –  I’ll share with you one of my many letters to Liese, expressing how I felt. I’m quite sure I should be embarrassed, but the bliss am in, kind of numbs any negative emotions.

My dear Liese,

 We’ve known each other for, well, ages. Every time I sit down to write you a letter, to tell you how I feel, I find myself tripping over my own words. It’s not because I can’t. I can. But I am overwhelmed by everything: you, your ‘best-friend’ love to me (which I’d like to change to something more up-close and personal, by the way) your body, how you look when you smile, or when you cry, when your eyes flash in anger, and in the mornings when your hair is all mussed up and sleepy-eyed. You are beautiful through and through.

 Probably you think, while reading this letter, I’m cool, calm and collected. I’m not. Not by a long shot. Writing this, knowing I’m already too late to tell how I’ve always felt about you is ripping my heart apart, and nothing, absolutely nothing will make it whole again. Every nerve in my body is begging me to shout on top of my lungs, how much I love you – really love you. And every muscle in my body wants to clock any man who dares look at you. I know I should feel guilty for even thinking of that way. You are married to Bastian ,after all. He is a nice guy, but… I loved you first. I consider myself a fool for not telling you from the star. I was afraid of losing you. But I realise in not telling you, I lost myself, my heart.

 And now that I have laid my heart at your feet, I will go hide this letter. You don’t need to read it, these simple, clichéd words. Maybe one day, I’ll write you a real letter, or tell you face to face – probably when we are old and grey – how much I love and adore you. You are perfect, a bit hot-tempered, but perfect. In my eyes you are.

  Even though I know I don’t have a future with you to think of, I can dream, can’t I? Wherever I am, as long as I alive, there you will be.

 Loving you to pieces,

Freytag Meier

Love does make us say silly things, doesn’t it?

Thank you Nicole, for hosting me on your blog. *wink*