I’m not sure if you can tell how much I like you — but I have a feeling it’s obvious.
You have caught me staring at you a couple of times, and even though I have tried to play it off like I was just lost in thought, I’m sure you were able to guess the real reason my eyes were glued to yours.
I find myself blushing whenever you walk into the room. I struggle to hold a conversation with you without stumbling over my words or saying something stupid that I will replay in my head again and again when I’m failing to fall asleep at night.
When I check my horoscope, I take a look at yours too.
When I post pictures online, I check my likes to look for your name.
When my mind drifts off in the shower, I have imaginary conversations with you inside of my head.
When I leave the house and know there’s a chance we are going to run into each other, I dress up just a little more than I usually would.
When we don’t run into each other, even though I dressed cute, I get annoyed about wasting my outfit and putting in effort for nothing.
I might not like every Instagram you post because I don’t want to look like I am obsessed with you, but I look at them more than I would ever admit. You look gorgeous in pictures. You look gorgeous in person. You are almost too attractive to be real.
I try to hide my feelings for you by teasing you. By ignoring you. By acting like you mean absolutely nothing to me.
I lie to myself because I don’t want to admit that I have grown attached to you. Whenever I like someone, it ends poorly. It ends in heartbreak. I would rather live in denial than admit that I am giving someone the power to hurt me again. I don’t want to put myself in a vulnerable position. I don’t want to put myself out there and end up getting rejected. So I put on a show.
Even when I talk about you with my friends, I don’t let on that I like you. I talk about how annoying you are. I talk about how I cannot stand being around you. But I talk about you all the time, so I’m sure they see through my charade. I’m sure they know how strong my feelings are for you.
You probably know the truth, too. Even though I spend most of my time denying my feelings for you, I’m not good at playing pretend. My emotions are written all over my face. I’m sure you can tell how I feel about you by the way I look at you — and by the way I avoid looking at you.
I’m never going to compliment you out loud, because I’m sure you’re told this all the time, but you are so fucking attractive.