I love you, I do. And I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know where it comes from. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if I love you because of who you are, because of what we’ve had or because of this perfect illusion I’ve created of us. But I love you. And I can’t tell you that. There is too much at stake. And I’ll just sit here, by myself, contemplating the fact that I love you and won’t tell you. And maybe one day, years from now, we’ll meet up again and I’ll be able to say that I loved you. And you’ll look me up in the eyes and tell me that you loved me too. We’ll laugh it off and feel sort of uncomfortable about it. And for a split second both of us will think about what could’ve been if we had just told each other we were in love. And then we’ll snap into reality and realize that there is nothing that could be done. And we’ll just go on with our lives knowing that there was this unshared love.
- I love you, I just can’t tell you that.
