I don’t know how I feel about you, but it goes something like this.


I sort of like you. It’s not a certain thing; if anything, it’s less certain by the day. But I enjoy you and I like you and I care about you, and you have a nice face, and sometimes when it crinkles into a smile, it does funny things to whatever’s happening inside my chest. You’re remarkably supportive, a terrific friend, but you are also very flawed and very human. I like you, because you see things in a wholly way, you’re not too short-sighted most of the time, you’re very rational and calculated and understand the broader impacts of your actions.

You do not see the broader impacts of your lack of action. You are awkward and uncomfortable in certain situations, and restrained at times. You don’t express yourself well, you keep your thoughts and feelings under ten-thousand layers, let them bubble up for all the wrong reasons.

When you get past this, you are wonderful. But as long as this is present, it makes understanding and gauging what you want, and how you feel towards me, the most frustrating challenge of all.


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