I think you just want me to go out and have a good time. God only knows I want to, and I deserve it. But…they try too hard to impress me, try too hard to make me laugh, try too hard to convince me that it’s going to be wonderful if I give it a shot.
You never did any of that. You just said whatever you wanted, whether it was off the wall ranting and cussing about random shit or some crazy flirting that just made me laugh.
You were –and are still— mellow, rich with personality without trying at all, full of sensitivity, full of words that continue to speak to my heart.
They don’t have your magnetic stare, your combination of amusement, lust, and adoration that made me feel like I would be missing out on something significant if I didn’t stare back.
I don’t understand some of the things you say and am too timid to ask what you mean. Thinking back across all of our conversations, though, I must say this. When I said I love you, I meant it with all my heart(you have always carried it), since high school. Please be gentle with it.
I’m glad you want me to have fun, but…they’re not you.
I can’t wait to see you.