I feel

I feel love

I can hold it in my hands.

Like Lillies and Orchids.


It's like paint in my hands.

Beautiful, beautiful paint.


Pouring in my hands, coursing in my veins.


I feel it and I love it and I can't deny it's beauty.


But...

Does he feel it?


It is not the cloying love of teenage hearts.

It is.... something more...

Something beautiful and so much better than all of that.


It does not demand anything.

It does not leave and come in waves.

I may not sense it sometimes, but that is my own subconscious choice.


But...

Does he feel it, too?

Does he recognize something akin to it within him?

Or does he, too choose to egnore it?

Does he not feel that pull?


.... My only hope....


Is that it is true.


That the love I feel is true.


If I knew it was true....


Then I would wait forever for him to recognize it.


I would sit in eternity, going about my missionary work. Doing all of the things Father would want me to do.....


And wait.

And wait.

And wait.













Because if this love is the love I think and feel it is...


It is worth it all.


It is worth an eternity of solitude.

Watching dearest friends grow and blossom into Fathers and Mothers.


And knowing... that the man I would have, the man I am meant to have.


Doesn't even know.

Doesn't even see.


Because this love....


Is sweeter than any I have known.




But...


if this is not that sweet and good love...



Then....


I do not know.



I cannot imagine a world where the image of his spirit is not burned into my heart.


I do not know what would happen.






















But I must clarify.

I do not want to become so serious with him.


I just...

want him to feel how much I care for him.

How much I just want him to be happy.


And know that I am there for him.


No matter what.


I just... want to be his best friend.