Title: Prosti
~~Explanation: Prosti is a word in Russian that means "Forgive me."

Rating: PG-13 due to alternative lifestyles.

Note: This story is completely true. I have taken the entire thing from my own experiences and these are all my words. This is my story.
~~Masa is a name I've given myself. First is was Mana, then Masa.

Feedback: Please. I want to know what you think.

~*~
I open up the door to my purple room, the flowers surrounding me.
Finally. I can do this.
It's been over a year now; nearly two since we met.
And still, how can this be... that I can still love you more than anything else?
Don't get me wrong; My feelings have faded dramatically. I don't cry every night anymore, though the tears behind my eyes remain. I don't think of you every day anymore.
Wait.
Yes, I do.
I have fallen in love again, but can finally write about you.

Walking into my closet, I take in a deep breath before opening the small wooden box that I keep my letter in.
My letter to you.
I poured my heart and soul into that letter... but you'll never know that.
Maybe you do.
I never asked. You never told.
We just never talked about it. That's okay. It only would have made it hurt more, I think. Maybe it would have helped me heal. I don't know. Does it really matter now?
I take the small diary out that I keep the letter in and take it to the computer.
Finally, I do the thing I swore never to do: I'm writing out my emotions about you. Will I let you read this? Even as I am typing, I don't know.
No one has ever heard our whole story. Not even you know what all happened to me when I fell for you. Did you even know that I fell in love with you?
Now you do.
And I am not sorry.
I apologized so much to you last year and you told me that I didn't have to be sorry. So I am not. Not anymore.
I sit down and begin typing this. It is only for you, but it will answer so many questions of everyone else who tried to help me get over you. I know that you couldn't tell how deep my feelings ran. But I told you. The note was the most accurate statement of my feelings and still is to this day.
You have left an unprecedented mark on my heart and soul that has yet to be matched.
But that isn't what this is for. Why am I even telling you this?
Smiling sadly to myself, I open the little blue book where my letter is held and hold the little white "square with the diamond inside" in the palm of my hand.
On the outside of it, it says...
Ally,
Prosti...
forgive me
Please! Don't tell or show anyone.
Read alone.

Why did I even bother asking you to tell no one? Did it really matter? I knew fully well going into it that I would have willingly taken the world's shame to be with you. I scoff and shake my head.
'This isn't what this "story" is for, Masa,' I think to myself.
So I continue.