It's not about me. [Ha, that's partly true.]
It's a poem/short story I wrote about five seconds ago, and this is what I think true love is all about. A sincere longing for someone, for something that seems out of reach, but only takes a little bit of courage and a little bit of faith to chase and grab. And even though it was a journey (long or short) to get there, you know that it was worth it once you have it.
It’s not that I’m loveless like I don’t love anyone. I do, I love you.
It’s not that I’m loveless, as in I don’t have anyone. I have someone – you.
It’s not that I’m loveless, ‘unloved’. I’m loved, for sure – by you.
But I wish that I could love less.
Love you less.
Maybe if I loved less, I wouldn’t be so loveless.
Maybe if I loved less, I wouldn’t wish for things I could never have.
They can say ‘never say never’; but it's just been said and I’ll say it again.
I can never have you.
You’re always there, yet so far away.
You’re such a good friend, always.
I wish it wasn’t like that.
My wishes always come true in my dreams.
And even there, in the blurriness, in the blackness of my own mind, just one thing is clear.
Loveless. I’m loveless, every time.
Say, I told you how I felt. Everything – from how you find a way to lift me up every day, to how you can keep me ever grounded – and more.
And so much more...
Say, you loved me too. Well, what then?
My mind won’t even allow me to process it, because the operation itself is too complicated, too abnormal, too...
Lately, you’re on my mind.
I just can't explain why.
All the time, I think about you.
I wake up; check my phone for messages – from you.
I go to sleep; check my phone for a ‘goodnight’ – from you.
No one else makes me feel like you do.
And yet, you’re always with me, but completely out of reach.
It doesn’t make sense.
But it’s perfect.
To me, you are perfect.
And you’ll always be the perfect friend.
I hope to change that someday.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe today.
I want to love you less.
But every day, I love you more.