Questions you ask sometimes set off a cataclysmic chain of thoughts and they lead down paths I'd only briefly considered before; only briefly considered because I thought it was impossible, but what if it isn't? Sometimes things you say make me think that yes, there is something there; something deeper than the words, the looks, the brushes of your hand on my arm. I'd like to know whether there is.
See, I wasn't entirely truthful. I didn't lie, but I told only a half truth. Now it presses on my heart, heavily - the weight of a wet blanket which simply cannot be lifted. I confess, I was afraid; the fear that if I spoke the truth, you'd turn away, and the last I would see of you was your back as you disappeared into a future which didn't include me. To lose another friend, it was a risk too great to take. Forgive me.
We've all got our secrets, even the girl you thought would have nothing but an impeccable past has some darkness lurking there; sometimes the most unlikely of people suffer from a broken heart. I'm falling for you. Have fallen? I'm not so sure anymore. The feelings for you have always been a little strange, walking the borderline between the living and the shades; now walking in the light, now melding back behind the impenetrable barrier.
It's strange to say that I fell for you before I'd even realised, but experience has taught me that it usually takes the mind some time to comprehend the heart. I woke up from a dream one day and that was it, I knew. That was before her. With her around you faded to the background; but you are the very reason I believe that you can be in love with more than one person. Though, I suppose, I was never one for the idealistic belief in "The One" either, so perhaps I am no authority to go by.
She's gone now, and my thoughts have found their way back to you; and they're different from what they were with her. She meant the world to me, but not the way you do. It had always been awkward and difficult; it was comfortable in her arms, but it was never more than just that comfort. With you, it is easy, like slipping into a light, comfortable and well loved T-shirt; everything is comfortable, like we've known one another our whole lives. Not the case, of course, but for some reason, there is an understanding between us that I cannot fathom.
It is said that you must fall for the wrong one to recognise the right one, and perhaps this is one such case. I'm not sure. Uncertainty claws at my chest; if you could see the inside of my chest, you'd be able to see all the scars and all the wounds it has left, the gifts for a lonely wretch.
Well, pay no heed. It does not matter. Perhaps I am right, I wonder if I will ever find out, but I am not courageous enough to ask. I should like to let it go, and not think such things, for I believe that I make some of it up sometimes; perhaps yes, even pluck it from the air, proving that you indeed saw it flitting there. This is merely the work of an over analytical, and overly hopeful imagination. It is likely that there is only heartbreak here, nothing more.
I shall just go back to dreaming, shall I?