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2011-10-02 - 10:50 p.m.

Sometimes I imagine what would happen if one of us admitted that we had feelings for the other person.

And even that doesn't really convey it, does it? We both have feelings for the other, that's a given.

I adore you, I think you're everything under the sun, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I know that I am special in your life, if only for the fact that I really enjoy revealing in my weirdness.

But what if you said that if I was any other person you would've had a crush on me? Or what if I said that I would be so gentle with you, like you were a baby bird just hatched, so timid and weak and blinking in the sunlight that was so bright and fierce that I would have to hold my breath in fear of breathing, exhaling so hard that you would flutter away, out the door, down the street, with the leaves, in the breeze, lost?

Would we stand there, awkward with each other for the first time in years? Would we stare at our phones, unsure of what to text next?

My gut tells me it wouldn't work out, if we tried, it wouldn't last because... and there it's out of my grasp, I don't know why it wouldn't work out, why it wouldn't last.

I try to imagine you in my bed, where I could grab you and just pull you into me, so I could wrap around you, so I could place my hand on your stomach and feel you inhale, so I could move your hair off your neck and inhale your scent.

It doesn't feel right.

What does feel right is taking you to a movie, is opening doors for you, is taking you to dinner, is reading your kid a book as he falls asleep, is carrying your bags up the stairs, is sitting on a porch listening to low music as we drink, is having you there, next to me.




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