You’re softer when we’re alone. Gentler in your words, more liberal with your acts of kindness; amplified caring that is rarely seen in front of other people. I don’t know whether to feel reassured that you hold more affection for me than you typically let on, or disappointed that showing that affection in the presence of others is still a struggle for you.
I don’t fully understand how I feel about you, so let’s start with what we know. I love you in some way. Mostly platonic, but there is still a smidge of romance repressed under there that drives that ache in my chest every time I look at you. And I’m trying not to feel it because I know there is no happy ending for it. You still have a lot of growing up to do and I still have a lot of self-love to learn. We’re both making progress. Regardless of the amount of progress we make alone, we are still not meant to be together, and that is the part that I’m forcing myself to get my head around. And I also know you love me in some way. Probably completely platonic, but you can’t blame me for holding out a little hope.
Let’s move on to what I don’t know. I don’t know if you ever get these pangs of nostalgic affection for me or fleeting rushes of jealousy when I talk about other people, and I don’t think I want to know because neither option would make me feel better. Knowing you did would set me back by three years and knowing you didn’t would hurt more than this already does. I don’t know what I’m looking to gain by writing about you other than even more heartache, but I like to think I’m untangling my thoughts this way.
And finally, I don’t know how to get over you completely. My God, I want to, because you’ve had me in an unintentional emotional chokehold since I was 15 and I am tired of feeling so much for you. But I don’t know how to stop your stupid eyelashes and your voice of honey and seeing you smile from having such an effect on me. I really don’t.