Just Another Love Letter

I'm going to let you in on my secret . . .

I like you.

Perhaps, I suppose. . .

I love you.

Now, don't ask me why because, honestly, I've been trying to know the answer for months and here I am, still answerless.

But definitely, I like you.

                                                                                              And it's so weird.

                                                                                              Like creepy weird.

I know, you're questioning me -

                   How could I say I love you when I don't even know you?

Again, I have no substantial answer for that question.

Maybe it's because you're so pretty.

Maybe it's because you love music and art like me.

Maybe it's because of your vibrant smile.

Maybe because you're simply amazing.

              Or maybe because it really is the irony of man to always want what couldn't be his.

All I know is that when you smile, I feel so warm and fuzzy inside, like nobody in this world full of bad men can bring me down.

When you look excited, I share the feeling of exhilaration even when my days were all boring and dead.

When you look tired, I imagine myself carrying you on my back, though in reality, my frail shoulders couldn't even support my big, stupid head.

When you look sad, I rack my brains hard for a good, inspirational line that would hopefully cheer you up and etch a smile on your face, though, regretfully, I know practically none.

When you look mad, I want to beat the crap out of whoever or whatever it is that made you mad, even if it meant getting beaten up in return.

And when you cry . . .

                   Heaven knows, if I could, I would destroy the world just for it allowing you to shed a single tear.

I honestly don't know.

I'm in this kind of emotional circus where I can't tell what my feelings really are and how they came to be.

All I know is that somehow, certainly, at the end of this crazy ride, you 'll be there -

                                                                                                       . . . and so would my fears be.

What if I fell in love -

            not with the real you, but with the "you" I have created in my mind?

             Not with the real you, but with the "you" I have only heard about?

What if you were just the manifestation of the false hopes I made myself believe in?

                                                      The false hope that someone, somewhere would be there for me -

What if "you" were just the convenient exit I've found to temporarily escape from the past?

What if "you" were just another excuse I've made for myself so that I can dream, hope, and expect once more?

What if "you" were just my fantasy?

I fell in love with my fantasy.

Sounds pathetic.

                                                                  And shameful.

But even so, I must say you're the best fantasy I've ever had to date.

And I may just be willing to dream my life away with you. . .

But. . . .

In the unlikely case that I managed to really fall for the real you -

I don't know.

They say I'm an eyesore.

A headache.

A pathetic excuse for a man.

I can't really do anything about it.

Except, well, accept it for now and strive for change so that sometime, in the future, I could be better - for myself, and if you're there, for you, too.

But I can't really do anything about it, yet.

I don't want to mess your life up.

You have your own goals and priorities.

Maybe there's no more room for me.

Maybe I will never even get to know you.

So, maybe . . .

I'll just blend in with the shadows of the crowd.

Maybe for now, maybe forever.

Silence would be my resolve.

I'll fix myself.

I'll be better.

I won't give up.

If I still feel the same way about you . . .