You asked me, and you want me to say it, but I'm sorry: I cannot explain what I feel for you. Yes, I know I like you, but I can't just say that outright because it makes me out to be a child. Besides, "like" is such a bland word that conveys a feeling which bears no real weight.
But, in truth, it's the alternative that I find downright terrifying. The alternative scares me. The other "L" word which I dare not write down lest the mere idea of my feeling it for you might make you run in fright. No, I could never tell say I "love" you... I refuse to say it, regardless of how much every living fiber of my body wants to scream it from the highest rooftop of this cold city.
"Love". What does the word even mean, anymore? Does it mean that at every waking moment of my sad little life I think of you, hoping and wishing and dreaming that you would look at me– if for an instant, at least– the way I cannot help but look at you? Is that love? Is it hurting–and I mean physically, bodily hurting– from the thought of your absence, and now, your absolute disregard for my very existence? Is that the emotion you call "love"?
Tell me, for if it is, I assure you I want no part in it. I did not want it when first it came and I do not want it now. Take it, along with everything else that you have taken from me already.
No, I will not tell you what I feel, because tonight I cannot even bring myself to say that I like you, although I know I do.
You asked me, and you want me to say it… well here's your answer: I would die for another moment by your side. Tonight there is no like and there is no love, there is only you and me. Tonight, my love, you're in my soul.
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