I'm afraid of saying "I love you." It scares me because if I say it, it becomes true, and I get too attached. Then whoever I've said it to dies, or leaves, or hates me, and it's all my fault when they're unhappy.
But... I love you. I do. I love you a lot.
I know it's okay to admit that I love you, because if you're dead, or gone, or hating me, you're probably happier than if you were with me. And that's all I really want now that I've said I love you and it's become real; I just want you happy. Even if smiling at other girls and flirting with my best friend is what it's gonna take to make you happy, I want it. Even if I never see your face again--those green eyes, that white smile--I want it.
Even if you tear out my beating heart and rip it in two, I'll still love you.
It's because of your wit, and kindness, and beauty. The fact that you could accomplish all of those challenges that Mr. W. poses, easily, but you're too modest to. Plus, you're funny and nice, and you like my drawings.
I love you, but you'll never know because that other girl has your eye. She's confident, flirty, not to mention beautiful. And thinner than me. I see you stare at her while I'm staring at you. She takes your bag and hides it from you, which makes you laugh. I wish I could do that. All I do is draw silly pictures, trying to impress you. Then I make awkward jokes, stupid me.
My head hurts. I need to stop thinking about you.