This is difficult to describe and nothing I’d ever tell you, not the least of which because I barely know you and because it’s so intense, but right now, to me, you’re all that’s beautiful in this world. Everything else is bland and dull or pain or war. The fleeting moments where I see you are sublime glimpses into the meaning of life, and while inside this fire burns and I long for an us that never will be, on the outside I have to pretend that you’re just another woman, just some minor acquaintance. Your absence is heavy nothingness. I have to suppress my feelings for you. Keep them trapped. So there’s no outlet. No closure. I can’t be with you, I know that, but I can’t even move on, at least not now. But I’ll confess one day, when the time is right, when telling you what you inspire me - quiet strength, complete beauty, effortless grace - and what you mean to me won’t create the mess that it would now. I’ve written it already, and even though obviously I’m not looking forward to the point where our ways part, I ache to tell you, to stop pretending you’re not the most special person I’ve ever met, who from one moment to the next inexplicably, magically made me feel as never before, to stop pretending I don’t love you to the ends of the Earth because indeed crazily I do, and to be released and finally be free.