When I found this page I thought I wouldn’t submit anything because I told myself not to write about you anymore. Seems like it wasn’t too hard to do the opposite, and here I am, doing what I’ve done many times before: writing, thinking about you.
I don’t know if I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t be “creative” anymore to write about the same things, or it’s just the fact that I’ve written so much that there’s nothing else left to say. A wonderful writer could invent many ways to describe the same and also make people feel part of the story, feel identified with it. I’m not a writer, but at least I’m the only one who can explain and feel exactly what’s happening in my life, and that makes me the best writer of my own story, my unique and unforgettable story. The same story that has chased me all these months no matter how many times I’ve tried to escape to find a place in an apparent reality.
Can you imagine what I feel everytime I talk to you and all the impossible things that I imagine we can live together someday? Of course you can’t. You don’t even know what I feel for you, and now it’s too late to know it, it doesn’t matter anymore. It did matter once, but I wasn’t ready to tell you, I was too busy trying to make myself think that nothing was happening, that it was just anotherfleeting feeling.
I always hide my feelings between the lines, they are there, but you can’t get all of them. It’s like there’s a huge message in front of you that you aren’t reading.
Our story, or at least the story I have of us (which are two different things), is more based on words than in actions, and that made me realize that words can enchant, make others live, feel. Words let me go through your mind, let me know what you think, make me fall more and more. Words are beautiful when they come from someone who has a mysterious charm, like you, for example.
Talking to you means thinking and not thinking at the same time, saying and not saying anything. Asking myself or not asking what I’m feeling. It’s being in the tiniest limit between friendship and something else, who knows.
Talking to you means trying to show the truest things with hidden words. It means having so many opinions and feelings in common, but also too many kilometers in the middle of us. It’s being so close to you, but so far away at the same time.
Talking to you means waiting for something that could happen and not waiting at all because I know it won’t happen. It’s having faith and not having it because the fear of failing does exist. It’s wanting to remember everything we’ve talked about during all these months, and not wanting to because you could stay attached all the time to all those feelings that have no expiration date.
If you want to know how sincere I can be, I can tell you you’re in the most remembered conversations, and also in the most favorite and reserved feelings, those that can’t be reached easily.
… it’s so hard to talk to you, but too easy at the same time that I don’t know how good or bad it is to reply all your messages.
Talking to you means realizing that I could be in the line of exaggeration and excess of honesty that becomes into something incredibly and slightly corny for the ones who read this.
Talking to you was and will always be the best way to show myself that the power that words is magic and can enchant anyone, especially me.
Talking to you has taught me that you don’t need to know exactly what you’re feeling if you feel incredibly alive with yourself and that nothing else matters. Why do I need to know more? It’s enough for me to describe you in the way I want, in the way I feel you. So simple: feelings aren’t meant to be explained to anyone, they’re meant to be felt and shared with others.
P.S. I’m sorry if I made any kind of mistake, I didn’t plan how I’d start and finish this, I just wrote, wrote and wrote until I felt I had finished.
