I look forward to the days you come over more than I probably should, probably more than half of how much you look forward to it. I’m sure if you were reading this right now, sitting next to me with your fingers laced with mine as you often tend to do, you would vehemently disagree. You would reassure me that there’s a place for me in your heart, that I am special, that I am always the one who is there for you when no one else was, is, or will be.
However, it falls on me to reassure YOU sometimes, when you look at me with those blue eyes of yours and ask me if I’m ok. Laying in bed, kissing each other softly, your hands wandering while the only purpose for mine is to stop yours when they go too far; how could I not be ok? Usually a “Yes, I’m ok” does the trick. But you always give me that look, the look that makes me wonder just how much you take my words at face value. You have never challenged my words, but I can see in your eyes that you doubt them.
Rightly so, too. How could you NOT doubt them? How could you not be aware that my feelings for your tend to eat me up inside? There’s just no way for you not to know that. There’s no way you can’t know that I would do ANYTHING to have a chance at the joy of calling you mine, because I have always been yours, whether you claim me or not.
You have made it clear we should remain friends, that dating is out of the question because our friendship is more important. That would sound very gallant if you held up your end of it. Staying “just” friends would be so much easier if I didn’t feel as safe with you. I don’t know anyone who holds, touches, and kisses their “friends” like we do when you come over.
The frustrating thing is, I know you care. I know enough about people to know that you just can’t fake that tenderness behind one’s eyes. I do mean something to you, but not enough to make you want to make this official, not enough to grant me the chance I’ve been waiting more than 3 years for. That’s what kills me. Because you can say “I love you” and mean it. I can reply “I love you too” and also mean it. But every single time you say “I love you more,” I remain silent.
The truth is that I don’t believe it. Even if love had some quantifiable way to be measured and compared against another person’s love, I still wouldn’t believe you love me more. Because that would require a greater level of care and appreciation than that of what you have for me. But the fact remains that, in some way, you love me. And I know this.
It is only for that reason that I continue to wait. I will continue saying yes when you ask me “Are you ok?”. I will continue loving you as I have all this time. And more than likely, I will continue waiting for you, receiving nothing more than concealed affection for my efforts.