The urge to write comes and goes. Sometimes I have days where I just want to be completely alone and just think and not share anything with anyone. I want to see empty space, and think only on my thoughts. Today is sort of like that, but I also want to write today. I’m thinking about Her again. I wanted to write more about other things, but there were lots of exams this month, so I was busy. Sorry.
I just noticed that there might be a way onto a rooftop from where I am. I might go sit outside after I write this. I’d like to see the empty sky again. It’s sort of gray because there are clouds about, and I’m not sure if it’s going to rain. I like that plain color, though. I like seeing the empty blankness. It reminds me that I have thoughts, and that those thoughts or real. Or at least, they feel real, and I don’t feel like such a fraud for having them.
So I’m thinking about Her. Sometimes I wish she could see this. I wish she could read what I’m saying here. Then she would know how I feel. Even if she doesn’t know who I am personally, I’d like her to at least know. Still, I probably couldn’t take the shame of her knowing what I think and who I am. I think I would be satisfied if she just knew me, but not as me, as someone random on the internet. And I knew that she knew. I don’t really know though. But here it is anyways. This is what I want to tell Her.
I wish I knew you. There’s so much about you that I already like, and I want to know more. I like how your hair is always a mix of purple and whiteish blond from how you dye it. I like how you style it, and sometimes you wear a cap to mix it up. You have such a cute, high pitched laugh. I like that you are short, and outgoing, and that you play games even though you’re not the best and you’re still confident enough in yourself to talk about it with other people. I wish I could be like that. Maybe you would like me better if I were like that.
I’m sorry I can’t be that. I’m sorry I’m too quiet, and that when I play games I try to be the best at it that I know I can be and I feel ashamed talking about it with other people if I can’t be. I’m sorry I’m not athletic enough. I’ve only done martial arts. You play tennis. Maybe if I got into something that was more athletic, we could be closer. But I’m not good at any sports. And I don’t like the rules. If I learn something, I want it to be practical. Or at least something I enjoy.
I’m sorry I’m fat. I’m sorry my nose is to big and that I don’t care about my facial hair, and that my face is too big, and my mouth is too small. I’m sorry I can’t be attractive for you. Then maybe I would have a chance. I know you’re single, and I know you like Asians.
But I know I can never have you. My parents would never allow it. I could never take the shame from my sister. I’m her role model. If I go outside of our faith, she might do the same, and I don’t want to be responsible for that, because then she would suffer from leaving the faith too. I know that we are too different, and I know that even though you fill up every hole in my personality, that you have all the qualities where I have faults, we can never really come to be closer to each other. I’ll still be too quiet to say anything to you. And you’ll still be out there looking for someone to make you happy.
But that’s ok. I’m sort of content like this. Well, actually, no, I’m not content with this. But I have to be, because I know I can’t have anything better. I don’t deserve anything better. It’s ok. Not really ok, but sort of ok. I think I feel obligated to feel ok.
I want you to be happy. And no matter how desperately I wish I could be the one making you happy, I know that I can’t. I still wish I could, so that even in the minuscule off chance that I really am the one that can make you happy, I can still do it. But if you do find someone else to make you happy, that’s fine too. I can live with the fact that you have someone else, so long as you are satisfied with them. But I’ll still be here, watching and wishing.
And maybe I’ll move on and give you up. That scares me alot. Because that means that love is nothing more than being selfish, and I’m a selfish asshole. But I’ll think about that later. This time now is for you. So thanks. For existing. And giving me reason to stay around and have hope and have feelings and have reason to be.
Take care of yourself.