Love letter # 370
You ask me what is wrong; although I cannot believe you do not know. There is nothing wrong, per se – only that I love you – and that I have done so for ages. Silently, because I respect your situation. In my head, because it is the only safe place for me to say these things.
For I am neither a fool nor a bully. Your body language tells me the truth. The way you withdraw. The subtle way you have of keeping me at arm’s length. Maybe the clever tacticians are right and I should manoeuvre you into it – make you realise. But that wouldn’t feel right – and anyway, I like you too much.
Yet to the quiet music of my heart, I can see us dancing. And in the secret fire of my sinews I can feel how good it would be. Perhaps if I did not know that we could make stars, I would not stare into the sky and wonder. But I do – and that’s what’s wrong.
Every day I promise to forget – to be cool. But then I see you – and because you are smart and caring and wonderful – you notice and you ask and I feel compelled to stammer ridiculous denials, which I know you do not believe. And I do this because I am afraid.
Because I would rather hide from you than have you hide from me.