Who am I after this?
Dear you,
This is all I do… write elaborate explanations of this thing driving me crazy and pondering why it does, just to delete every word and correct it to something a little simpler; something that implies that it doesn’t bother me as much as it really does. I don’t know where this is coming from but I feel like I need to tell you that this may be getting out of control. I think I’m starting to want things from you that you don’t want to give me… I’m putting faith in things you just can’t supply; asking for your love when you could never love me. I think it’s bold of me to even entertain the idea that you could feel even an ounce of what I feel for you… this would be the time when I steer the conversation away from my feelings, but, you need to know, you make me feel something I’ve never felt before. I honestly, genuinely care about you. I don’t even know you… you don’t even know me… but, here we are… or, “Here I am.” I’m just sorry. I’m sorry for being this way when I’m sure it’s no use, you’ve just always been special to me… ever since the beginning.
I don’t know what brought us here, but I wish I did. Maybe I have too much faith in fate… or maybe I just need something to believe in. I kind of feel like I’m living this illusion… where we need each other, but, in reality, I think I just need you and this idea… and, the struggle between the two is what keeps me writing to you hoping you’ll open my eyes and show me what I need to see.
You’ve got to be tired of my unrealistic way of being and if you aren’t, you are as crazy as I am, which is okay.
love,
me
if you can.
