Well I cannot be in love. For being in love would mean that someone has taken their time to read every expression on your face, as if you had a stunning cover no matter how plain the colored material was. Someone has to have the interest in going on based on the little hours spent making small memories, memories that held conversations craving to have the chance to express more than words can ever mean. Each conversation would be remembered as a reference to color in the future with laughter. Encounters with one another would be kept in mind but remembered by heart. And those encounters would influence their feet to walk a little further to get to one another, and maybe even encourage more words to be spilled out little by little. Those words would be the excuse to arrest any urge to leave. But I’m not in love, that would be ridiculous, because though I do feel infatuated I do not feel the need to carry on, maybe the desire to, but as of right now we can live without one another. I cannot admit that I am in love, but I can admit that I wonder about the way you love, the way you show how much you want a person to stay. I can say that I wish I knew what you were afraid of, so that I can tell if this is the lack of interest, or the fear of being interested. Based on that, one can assume that we are both not interested, maybe you are just a crush that will be nothing to me but a prefixed blur of a memory, but you have interested me more than the person others recognize as being my first love. But please do me a favor and leave my mind the same way he did and to make things easier at least you haven’t entered my heart just yet, but I wouldn't mind if you did. Because maybe we can fall in love no matter how uncomfortable that word can make a person and the fear of being adored would be nothing crumpled up pieces of paper.
April 5, 2013