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Dear You

Dear You,

I don’t know when it started. Maybe it was yesterday—maybe it was a week ago—maybe it was all along. Maybe it’s always been there, but I haven’t noticed. I don’t believe in the concept of “love”. I don’t believe in loving anyone—isn’t it just strong friendship?

Maybe I’ll wake up one morning and realize. Maybe I’ll realize what the books always say, about how your heart thumps unevenly and you blush at strange moments. Maybe I’ll realize what my friends always talk about—how they talk about “love”.

But what is love really? Is it jealousy? Is it admiration? Is it friendship and the capacity to get along? Is it all of those mixed together? Or is it bits of different feelings? Because “love” isn’t really a feeling. Isn’t it just mixing a bunch of thoughts together? Is there more?

Love is just something I don’t believe in. I’m conflicted as whether to go against my morals or against myself. Could I possibly go against my morals? Could I possibly go against myself—therefore breaking everything I stand ground upon?

Thoroughly Confused,
Me

PS: I think I’m starting to like you.



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