I want to be with you. The previous statement should not be regarded as synonymous with “I want to be romantically involved with you and watch romcoms and drink coffee and cuddle and exchange Eskimo kisses and be nauseatingly adorable together despite the fact that such actions are just barely legal and it would look incredibly peculiar to any passerby and also to anyone who knew either of us and also just to anyone with functioning eyeballs because I don’t quite look forty and you don’t quite look eighteen”. Such a relationship with you would make me incredibly uncomfortable. I would no longer care to be in your presence, which would ruin what I have found to be a perfectly good thing.
Over the course of these two years I have fallen into a very childish lust with you. You are either entirely oblivious to my feelings (despite how pathetically obvious I often am), or you find it to be adorable (which is in keeping with much of your own behaviour towards me). In the event that the former statement is the accurate statement, please do not be alarmed. This is merely what happens when I meet someone who shares a few common interests and who doesn’t mind paying attention to me for two seconds. I however lean towards the latter, as it would explain why you seem to almost encourage my behaviour. And as I am a typically self-centred human being, it would place me in a better light, making my awkward attempts at advances something that merely adds a desirable quirk to whatever we had going on this year (I’d very much like to call it a friendship, but the distinct possibility that you might not return the sentiment terrifies me). I’ve spent the past seven months wanting to ask you to kiss me, just once, but I feel I can accurately predict your answer, and I feel that even if you were to agree to ten seconds of my happiness, I would only long for another taste.
I wish that I could erase these feelings. I know that it’s entirely absurd of me to have such conflicted feelings over you when I most likely won’t feel the same in a few years. And I know that I shouldn’t feel so much agony over you when there is really no reason for you to even care. That, I suppose, is the bulk of the problem. I know that you would care.