As I sneak glances and make remarks of how I think you’ve grown again (take note that I never said that I don’t like seeing you like that
or that it does not suit you),
maybe you did not notice the endearing way I said it. Maybe because you’re used to my tone and voice that don’t endear
when all I’ve wanted to say is that we can talk now without the awkward glances, and the awkward pauses, and the awkward sentence constructions. You can talk to me now without the worry of me falling again for you with every word you say
(and with every word you don’t say),
with every smile you give, with every high-pitched laugh that you let out.
I know you’ve made it a point not to lead me on and that nothing’s there for me. And I believe and respect that. But I would like to let you know that trying to find the right words to say, trying to make everything here sound poetic is as hard as suppressing this unwarranted attraction.
When I tell you all these crass, unkind, and mean-spirited words, it is because the good words that i have to say to you and to describe you are not the words that you would like to hear from me.
But to be lost with you as I am lost now. To laugh with you as you laugh at me. And for every possible reason that I can think of, I am content.