For two and half years I have been afraid. I have been afraid I wouldn’t be enough, afraid you wouldn’t want me, afraid you’ve seen too much or not enough of me, afraid I hadn’t seen enough of you, afraid of loving you.
I’m still afraid, but I am bold and I am brave and I deserve to live in truth.
I love you.
I love your nose, I love your legs, I love you in contacts or glasses, I love the faint gurgling (forgive my limited vocabulary; every sound you make is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard) in the back of your throat when you’re sarcastic.
I love how real you can be, how safe I’ve felt with you.
And yes, you’ve seen me at damn near my worst, but you’ve made me feel my very best and having that kind of magic isn’t something you should waste on a boy who wouldn’t love you like the world was ending.
I love you. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.
But love you more.