You believe there’s something wrong with you, and I get that.
I can’t tell you how much I trouble myself about your emotions,
cause, see, you wouldn’t understand my interest in your feelings and instead you’d question me, and then everything would get lost in the fact that I care too much for all of this to be platonic
and it would suddenly be about my homosexual feelings
instead of about how you sit outside in your backyard at night trying to rock yourself to calmness…
but when something gets to you, it gets to me, and I can’t think of anything else but to let it show.
So would all your favorite birds stopping singing and fall out of the sky if I hugged you? Can I at least try to steady you when you’re crying, or would the sea dry up and the left side of the earth break off and float away to the metropolis of the Milky Way? Which one of us is the damage and which is the relief, because I could try to help you fight this thing, but do you see that it would just make everything worse if you’re afraid of what I am when I care about you?
You need someone else, I think. Someone who can watch you passing on the street and only see another inhabitant of this world instead of something spectacular. Because I get in the way of my ability to help you …my background silences my words in your ears before they reach your mind or your heart cause baby, you already know that I might love you. If I confirm it with my tears, with my open arms, with my everything-will-be-all-right-soon’s then everything’s for nothing and awkwardness would send us forever back into the shallow waters of small talk and we’d spend our time pretending nothing changed and trying pointlessly to mend wounds in a dead friendship.
Whether I confirm this or not, I love you, and I wish you didn’t have to go looking for someone who doesn’t
to feel better about yourself.