Dear Webster,

Chances are, years from now I’ll look back on this letter and scoff at myself, because what I felt was nothing close to love. After all, I’ve only known you—or more accurately, talked to you extensively—for just shy of two months.

So I’ll just preface this by saying: I’m not in love with you. But that does not discount the possibility that I could be in love with you. I could write you pages upon pages of how I feel about you, how embedded you’ve become in my life and in my thoughts, how giddy yet how comfortable the time I spend with you is. But all the adjectives, all the metaphors, all the similes that I could (and at times, have) used to describe you and what you mean to me boil down to this:

I don’t need you in my life, but your presence amplifies my happiness.

Merriam

—By Janelle S., 16, California