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If only I could burn my love for you, like I'll burn this letter.
The worst thing about all of this.
The thing that makes me really angry, about me falling in love with you.
Is not that I think you’re perfect, and it’s not even that you make me feel more self-conscious then ever before.
It isn’t found in the irony of me telling you that I don’t believe in love and never will, all the while subconsciously falling for you.
It isn’t that I’ve had to go for months and months, seeing you for hours almost everyday, having no relief from the thought of you.
It isn’t that I know you’re worth so much more than me. Or knowing that you deserve better because you are better.
It isn’t even knowing that I don’t, and probably never will, have you.
It’s seeing what you’ve changed me into.
Because now, because of you, and only you, I’ve changed completely.
Because now, I actually have emotions, and I hate it.
Because now, I hate everything about my appearance and I want to change it all.
Because now, I get nervous and jealous and angry and depressed.
Because now, I sit there, hour after hour, day after day, imagining myself with you.
Because now, I realise that I can’t get everything I want.
Because now, I start to doubt everything and everyone.
Because now, you make me so depressed at times that I would rather end my life than go through all the pain and misery and confusion and jealousy that you cause me.
I need you to know how I feel.
But I can’t say all of this to you because it will make you think I’m crazy.
But if there is the slight chance that you like me back, no matter how little, you already know that, don’t you? You know I’m strange and paranoid and obsessive.
And if that doesn’t matter to you, and I hope it doesn’t, then I’m happy with it.
But every time I even think of telling you how I feel, I feel nervous and I know I couldn’t possibly do it.
Not to your face, anyway.
But I know I couldn’t get a messenger to do it. Or send it by email. Or say it I any other way than straight to you.
So I’m going to try.
I told myself I’d write this to prepare myself. To think up what to say to you.
But now I know. I just need three words. Not the three words you might be thinking of. Not the three words that describe how I really feel about you. Not ‘I love you.’
Not yet. You’d really think I’m crazy.
I don’t know how to go about it.
Where or when I’ll say it.
How I’ll get you to listen.
How my voice will sound when I say it, and what my face will look like.
If I’ll be confident enough to look you in the eyes, or if I’ll show you how vulnerable you’ve made me and look at the ground. But I need to say it.
I like you.