There seems to be the endless whisper of existing doubt when I look at you. An energry pulsates within in me. An urge. To be as far away from you as possible. Simply because it is, how should we say, difficult. No. I underestimate this feeling. It is destructing and agonising to be in your presence. I will stand, in awe of you. I could be on the verge of tears at the mention of your name. You haunt me, beautifully, yet hauntingly everstill. Regardless of your beauty, you frighten me. You can press your thoughts to mine, as though our chests are pressing. You can read my eyes, as though I had spoken my every word aloud. You can kiss every word that falls from my lips as though it were they instead. But I fear, that you know all too well of my interest. Again, I underestimate. Interest. One word, obsession is distateful on my tongue. Obsessive, possesive. Not as innocent or distant as interest. Much too overpowering, too...distateful. Perhaps, I shall just call it...dear you.
A powerful. Hauntingly beautiful feeling. dear you. You will never read these letters. Nor ever know of their existence. And when other eyes scour these words, with bafflement, or understanding. Those eyes will not belong to you. There are many barriers we must cross before we may brush fingertips. There are many years that must pass, before I age old enough to touch you, and everstill, only lightly brush past you. Like a fleeting moment of bliss. I will mistake your smile for an invitation to your heart. I will mistrust the foothold you make and fall, faster than ever before.
Is it hurt I see in your eyes or are you blind to passion and obsession. It is not I that can be possesive of you, you see. You must understand that it is, perhaps in your very nature, your soul has inhabited me. It is you, you fiend, that has possesed me. Whether I made it so or not, it is, without a doubt, true.
Dear you...Whenever will you understand? That the more I grow in love with your very existence, the more I am repulsed by everything about you. Hithero, on the balcony I waited. But wait, I need not, you were always there. And whence came your approach, I will turn cold and flee.
Hot passion bubbles within. Fierce like every cliche you can think of. Like lava, like a storm, like Venus' foreplay with cupid. Call it what ever you wish, my fiend, I am simply so hatefully in love with you.
But isn't it just so lovely, to hate you as well?
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