It was not my intent, when I first made the acquaintance of Mr. Abel, to pay him any particular notice.

He had much to recommend him as a friend: an infectiously cheerful, friendly demeanor, a willingness to dance wherever music or room could be found (and perhaps with only one of these two necessities), and an ability to render me lightheaded with laughter at his writing.

It seemed a happy thing in itself to have such a friend, and I did not wish for anything more, or regret the circumstances which removed the possibility of more. Even laying everything aside, which I never could have done, he seemed at the time to be... dare I acknowledge, not the sort of man to inspire those sorts of feelings in me? We met infrequently, though I had occasion once or twice to be gladder for the comfort of his presence than I could explain. Sometimes one kind word from someone not an utter stranger is enough, and Mr. Abel has nothing but kind words, it seems... I didn't feel so presumptuous asking him.

How peculiarly difficult it is to write this evening! The words don't want to come, but beg me to let them rest where they lie, unspoken and safe from all threat of being misused or regretted. I suppose this means I fear the risk of saying nothing more than the risk of speaking. If he weren't so patient...

Recently- and can I really mean by that vague word only the last few weeks? It feels ages longer- but only recently did he begin to seek my company more. No one else was claiming it any longer, and so I wondered what could be the danger? None to him, anyway. I enjoyed what friendship was given, and gave thanks for it, treating the idea of an exchange of affections as the impossibility it seemed. It was pleasant to dance and flirt and laugh and not, for a little while, care so much about whether I was cared for.

But it happened that the impossible became possible. We've spoken very little as to how, in part because I fear to ask. The timing of it all tries my belief in coincidences, but it was explained as though it were a decision made before the question of my interest was even raised... and that suffices because I want it to. If I found it were otherwise, I'm not sure what I'd do.

So it happens that I find myself, unexpectedly... happy? Lord help me. Let me not wake up and find there's been a mistake, that this gift was addressed to me in error. I don't want to give it back.