One word from you and I’m smiling in a way even my mother can’t make happen. I’m pulled from an entire day’s worth of pressure and anxiety and sadness, and I’m just… me again. The stupidly happy, witty, giggling me, and I fucking love it. It’s euphoric. Addicting. I can’t get enough.
But my doubt is strong and eliciting that kind of emotional response goes both ways. One off-hand comment can bring tears to my eyes and loneliness to my mind—I’ve always been far too sensitive, don’t worry, I know. I find it annoying, too—and I dread the day when you leave my side, the day you find that wonderfully perfect person you love wholly and without restraint.
Because I’ve always loved you.
And some days I wonder… I deign to hope that maybe, just maybe, you love me, too.