I wish I could say this to you right now.
I love you.
The problem with me saying that is that we hardly know each other. The words “I Love You” might sound like an overused quote to you.
I understand it’s hard to believe me. You don’t believe me, nor the words that comes out of me. Your past had left a thousand of scars all over you – ones that are visible only to you. You had been used, discarded and abused – you had given up on the notion that true love is real and tangible. Love for you is now forever tied to something else.
Love, for you, only comes with reason.
So when I say I love you without expecting anything in return, it’s hard for you to believe, to understand, to accept, to even understand. And I can’t even explain how painful that is – not because you don’t believe me, but because you’re that hurt that something as simple as love confuses you, throws you off and fills you with so much of distrust.
You always believed that you have to be on top of your game, on top of everything just so that you know what to expect, and what to do to counter it. And I guess the fact that I am such is confusing to you – I’m just a big ball of emotions and you have no idea if I can be trusted or if I’m just another player.
Even with the mess that surrounds me, I love who I am, I love who you are – and despite what I’ve seen, what I’ve been told, what I’ve yet to see and experience, I want to continue loving you this way – messy, too much, child-like. I’m not mature in love, and well, I rather love you this way – with the innocence of a child than the cynicism of an adult.
I would like to know more about you – know you better, intimately, just as the way I know the back of my hand. I would like to – if you’d just give me a chance. I don’t know where this love would take me, or take us, but I yearn for you; I ache for you – all I wish is to see you, be there by you (and for you) – I’d like to see you smile once and know I was the reason behind it for once – I’d like to hear your voice, hear it speak, hear it say my name.
I know I’m asking too much; I know but I can’t help myself – I can’t explain how is it possible to love someone who’s an anon to me – I somehow just do. Words fail me when I try to explain these emotions swirling within me – emotions that are stamped with your name all over.
You’ll forget me, you’ll forget I exiss – you probably already did.
The truth of that knowledge stings; the truth of that kills me, just as the thought of you with someone else kills me. Yet I’d still continue this one sided love – I’d still love you this way; impossibly, incoherently, incomprehensively, and insanely – for this is something I’m good at – loving you knowingly even when I know it’s entirely impossible to bear fruition.