I’m sitting so close to you and it’s freaking me out. Our legs are touching out of necessity. I can feel the warmth radiating from you. I try to avoid eye contact, even though we’re talking. Everything that comes out of my mouth sounds ridiculous and I know it. It sounds especially ridiculous because I’m nervous. And I can’t stop being nervous around you, no matter how much I try to convince myself that it’s no big deal. I’ve convinced myself that you’d never have any interest in me anyway, so there’s no point in even thinking about it. But I can’t stop thinking about it. And that makes me nervous. Can you read my mind? I hope not.
I’ll admit it. I have a little crush on you. Okay, I won’t admit it to you, but I will admit it. I so clearly remember the first time I met you. It feels like it was ages ago. You looked surprised to meet me in the circumstances in which we met. Of course you knew who I was. You know everybody. But you knew me for a reason otherwise. You knew my family. But that was all there was, just a look of surprise and recognition. There was nothing else. But I felt something else, even if I didn’t know what it was at the time. I just thought it was fun. I enjoyed meeting you.
It’s not like we’ve spent mountains of time together over the years, just fleeting moments. But those moments were always so lovely. I don’t know what those moments mean to you. Should that freak me out? I hope it doesn’t freak you out. I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t know what it all means. I’m not appropriate for you, and I doubt you’d be interested anyway. For all our similarities, we’re just too different. You’re a genuinely good person and I’m, well, me. So, I convince myself that it’s a terrible idea to ever say anything, to ever act. And that’s okay, I suppose. Because I’d rather be nervous and be around you than never see you again.
Thank Ceiling Cat you’ll never see this.