I left last night contemplating words. I am a person of many words, for better or for worse; you a person a few - when it comes to THESE things. Wrapped up in this contemplation was also a query regarding why I write here, rather that be direct...
I am afraid to be direct. I recognize this is my own issue I need to deal with, and I am working on it - just as you have said you are trying to get better with words. Maybe I feel this is a sort of compromise. In my head, anyways. I know by writing here, there is a chance you may see it and figure me out. It also leaves deniability too, if that is desired. I leave enough unsubtle hints, if you read ANY of the things I write, you would know. You would know I am writing about you. Would you say anything if you did find this? Or leave me anonymous, cheesy, poems too?
This could backfire, sure - but this is genuine. Perhaps I am afraid of feeling too much too soon. Is is actually too soon? It has been several months now. I think you know, anyhow. Part of me hopes you find the word first. Part of me wishes I had a better understanding of what you want before I let the words slip. I almost said something last night.
It is building, and it is undeniable - even when it is low key.