Sometimes I am so glad that you will never read these words.
I'm happy that you have no clue that somewhere on this expanse of a website, there are poems and song dedicated to you.
If you knew, I wonder how you would respond.
Would you be angered, or maybe embarrassed?
How much would things change if you knew how I really felt about you?
I can't help but question myself any time I go to click the button.
To publish my thoughts and feelings for all to read, it's strange. But then, if I didn't do that, no one would really know me.
I let that sink in as I wait for it to tell me that my words have officially been published. It scares me a little.
You see, you don't know me the way that you think you do.
You only know what I have felt like giving you, and you have only ever seen the painted faces that I present.
But would you like me if you knew what's behind the mask, would you want me if you knew that I wasn't as innocent and free of guilt as you think I am?
No, I've never done anything too drastic, but it could be enough to end everything completely.
Yet the idea is still so tempting. Should I drop it into conversation, that I'm a writer? Should I risk it all?
Maybe I could leave you the link of a poem about you, and let you pick it apart, bit by bit, until you have found the bare skeleton of all that remains.
Maybe I could allude to you in the words of my songs how much I adore you, or maybe I could paste a few lines from something that once made me so proud.
But what if you did know, what if you were aware of this all? Could that be the reason things never seem to go quite right? Do you know?
These are questions that I'm afraid to ask you, things I'm not sure I want you to know.
I know I've tried telling you before, but all that it leads me to is grief, and I'm not sure that I can handle another smug cliché.
If you were to read these, then you would understand how deep my feelings go, how my mind works.
Maybe, just maybe, things could work out for us.
Or maybe you would turn away from me, and I would have ruined everything that was barely hanging on to begin with.
Sometimes I wish I never made these words at all.