Between The Squiggles

I know this is not real.

I know what I feel for you is probably temporary, and just like the priest Fleabag loved once said, “It’ll pass.” But when you are inside this strange state of love for someone, and I call it a state of love because it is not love, we both know that, it becomes almost impossible to convince yourself to let go.

Because if I let you go, then I am letting go of the version of my life where you existed in it differently. I am letting go of the potential, and potential is such a cruel thing because it is not real enough to claim, but it is real enough to grieve.

It is so hard not to tell someone that you like them. Every day, my mind is full of you. I wake up, and I think of you. I brush my teeth, and I think of you. I eat breakfast, and I think of you. I scroll through social media, and still, somewhere underneath everything else, my mind is thinking of you. You are everywhere. I see you all the time.

Sometimes, I open my phone just to look at your contact. Most of the time, I stop myself one click before opening your photo. I can’t bring myself to do it. But one day, on a whim, I did. Even then, I could not bring myself to really look at you. Why should I? It is hard to look at someone you are so desperately infatuated with, knowing they might not feel the same way about you.

They say it is all in the eyes, Chico. I believe that. It is all in the eyes. Even when I look at you, and especially when I do not because why would I want to give away my secret?

On the last day, you got a call from your family. You rushed to get up, said goodnight, and told me we would meet again. I said, “Of course,” and nothing more.

I like to believe you were overcome with emotion too. I like to believe you left quickly because you were afraid that if you stayed a little longer, your eyes would’ve betrayed you too.

While getting to know you, I interrogated myself constantly.

“Am I developing feelings for him?”

“Maybe I am just appreciating good qualities in another person.”

“Maybe this is not me falling for you. Maybe this is just me trying to name a kind of fondness I have never known before.”

I asked myself all of these questions, but I was already too late. I had begun liking you before I had even begun questioning myself. And you cannot interrogate someone who already knows the truth, can you?

I hate that you do not see what you feel for me. I hate that if I do not make a move, it will take an impossible amount of courage for you to do so. I hate it even more that you probably do not realize you like me more than I like you.

But most of all, I hate that you are going to let this pass.

You are going to let this pass, and then whatever you felt for me will travel elsewhere. It will soften, shift, and eventually find another person to reach.

Maybe, it’s all in my head.