How would it feel? If I was in front of you. Looking at you, dead in the eyes. What’s going to happen from this moment on? What’s going to happen when we’ve lived our lives? After we’ve partied, laughed, cried, danced, worried, smiled. I’m not saying that these moments should be overlooked. These were the moments that built me up to who I am, night by night. They made me realize how alive I could feel. They made me realize who I was. How happy I could be, on my own, without anyone else controlling my feelings. But after these invigorating nights, there are always mornings after. What happens then? Will I ever be able to tell you? Could it ever be worth it? Will I ever know how you feel?
I don’t think I could, or would, ever let you know. Just because I know I wouldn’t get the answer I wanted to hear. As childish as it is, I don’t know if my pride could take that blow. But for you, aside everything, I would let my pride take a blow. It’s confusing, to let someone control your thoughts and feelings without knowing how they feel. Terrifying, but confusing. Because it’s so terrifying, I’d rather build a fantasy of what we could be, instead of facing the harsh but lucid reality that you don’t acknowledge me or my heart. Who knows, you could be in love. In love with someone who makes you feel just like how you make me feel. And I may have no clue of it. You can be recklessly single and trying to avoid affection like a vegan avoiding Arby’s for god sake. But I don’t know that. And I won’t know.
I’m living in the world of my own isolation and ignorance right now. I know I’m stupid. I know I’m being unrealistic. But the only reason I am, is because I know for a fact that no one will know. No one will ever know, and there will be no action taken. So all of this is on me. I’ve never guarded a secret so heavily in my life. My mom doesn’t even know. My MOM. The one who’s wiped my tears after every boy I thought I loved, hurt me. And why am I making this a classified top secret-secret?
Because in the deep, branched, cracks of my wine and ice-cream abused, numb-beating, BLACK HOLE, of my heart, I still have hope. Hope that you don’t find me obnoxious, reckless, loud, damaged, or annoying. How I am to you is everything. But I do know this: There’s no hope in you feeling how I feel. Seeing me as I see you. Looking at me like I look at you. Thinking of me the way I think of you. That’s why I’m trying so hard to move on. Trying to go out and party all night, binge watch Netflix series, travel, just to get away from what’s already in my mind: you. I need to get you out of the back of my head, and from the front of my heart. Everything I do is you. When I wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, go out, the list is endless. It’s tough. But knowing me, I can manage.
I’m strong. Resilient. I’ll bring myself up. I won’t let myself be in this dark hole of depression and anxiety it’s not going to happen. Because I’m too scared to let it. I feel stupid. For saying that I love you. Is love supposed to make you feel like an idiot? Feel so vulnerable for doing so? I’m not sure. But I am sure that I won’t feel like this for anyone else. I don’t need your confirmation. Your disappointment. Your sympathy. I’ve made this up in my heart and I’ll end it there too.