I have liked you from a distance for a while and I don’t know how to categorize it.
Normally, I have two distinct modes.
- Complete and total disinterest.
- WOW, THIS IS IT. LET’S RUN AWAY TOGETHER AND ELOPE TOMORROW.
And I know, it’s not healthy to be so extreme. Clearly, neither has been a recipe to happiness. I fall into the first camp most of the time. I try to will myself to care, but it doesn’t work. I’ve never been able to fake it. I can’t force something.
And the second? It’s been disastrous. It’s me, irrational and passionate. It’s been Heartbreak City, population me.
But with you, it’s different.
I am fascinated by you. I mentioned your name three times on a weekend with my girlfriends and want to pretend it meant nothing. I want to act like it was just a casual reference. But I know myself too well. I know I only focus when there’s a reason to.
There’s a lot I don’t know about you. There’s plenty I’d probably rather not know.
You aren’t my first thought in the morning. I’m not chomping at the bit. I don’t hear wedding bells in the distance. Hell, I don’t even hear “We made it to 6 months!” bells, or whatever the equivalent is.
Still, I think about you. And I’m excited when I see a text come in from you. I like imagining us naked teasing one another. I like imagining you, a little drunk, giving me a hard time about something.
We are not a romance novel any Taylor Swift fan wants to read. We’re not roses and sweet talk, nothing sugary about what we say to each other.
And that’s exactly how I like it.
It’s why I’m so into the idea of you and me.