April 21, 2025
by Elias Romero

I think I’m in love with her.

It’s the kind of thought that sneaks in at night, when the house is quiet and there’s no one around to tell me I’m being ridiculous. I don’t even know when it started. Maybe it was that time she ran up to me, breathless after soccer practice, hair stuck to her forehead, laughing like the world was light. Or maybe it was the way she listens—like she actually wants to understand you, not just respond.

She’s this whirlwind of energy and muscle and confidence. The kind of girl who always wins the relay races and doesn’t apologize for being strong. I admire her. Maybe I admire her too much. Maybe it’s not admiration anymore.

But here’s the thing—I’m not built like her. Not even close. I’ve always had this weird relationship with my body. Some days I’m okay with it, other days I feel like it betrays me. And when I picture telling her how I feel, all I can imagine is her blinking awkwardly, trying to find the nicest way to say no thanks.

And that would be it. The friendship that keeps me sane, gone in a few awkward sentences. I know people say “you never know until you try,” but honestly? The idea of losing her as a friend hurts more than the silence I’ve been sitting in.

So I haven’t told her. And maybe I never will.

But it feels good to admit it, even just here. Even just once.