Pen on paper

   I can't tell you, I can't tell anyone so I'm writing it here. Funny how a pen on paper lets out emotion differently then text on a screen. With a pen it flows out of the body into the pen onto the paper, but fills right back up once the pen stops it's dance on the page.

   That's why I am writing I need to empty myself of these emotions that I never should feel. It's just a stupid crush, that's what I tell myself. It's not just a stupid little crush, but I still lie to myself.

   Lying, something I never thought I would do, has become my second nature. You ask me how I am feeling and I say "fine" or "good", lies. You say that your sorry, something came up you can't make it, and I say "I don't mind" lies. Sometimes my mind wants to play games and tosses in the thought "what if he feels the same?" Lies.

   Why do I kid myself? Does my brain find it fun to put my hart through hell? Does it realize I don't want these chemicals to start running through my veins when I see you? Does it see that no matter how often it makes me want to yell "I love you" I never will because you won't say "I love you too"? Can it take a brake, leave me alone for a little wile?

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   No it can't. Whenever I see you it tricks me into seeing little things that give me a little bit of hope. Hope, I hate it, it lies, lies more than my brain does. It says that you might see me as more than friendly. It says that you might not push me away with disgust if I put my lips on yours. Hope lies to me.

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   Why does the image of your face haunt the backs of my eyelids? Why can't I find someone's smile that lights up like yours does? Why can't I just forget this whole thing happened? Let my brain think of you as just my friend, is that to much to ask for?

   Can you just leave my dreams? I'm tired of waking up screaming your name. I don't want to sleep in case I might glimpse your face. Your face, looking at me like I don't matter, like it would be easy to never see me again. I miss when my dreams were a sweet escape from reality. When I didn't have nights staring at my wall with images of you walling away from me playing through my head.

   Sitting there with no comfort because people would ask what is bothering me. I can't tell anyone that I have sleepless nights because of you. I'm not ready to be in love, not ready to feel this pain of not being loved in the same way.

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   I wish I could spend time with you like I used to. Not worried about if the want is showing. Not worried about letting words topple out of my mouth. The little things I love about you adding up to me doing something stupid.

   I think you are starting to suspect something. I don't look you in the eye anymore in case I get lost in them. I try not to talk so I won't let anything slip. You haven't said anything yet but I wish you would. I wish that I could say something and get it off my chest, because the weight is starting to kill me.

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   I couldn't keep it all in anymore, the weight of the secrets is gone but it is replaced by the weight of worry. Worry that you won't want to see me again, that you'll hate me. Worry that my nightmares are true.

   I ran before I could see your face. I ran away from all the possible, no probable, rejection. I ran from you. The person who gives me such pain, but such pleasure. No more, no more running, no more hoping that my problems will solve themselves.

   I have to talk to you, even if that means my nightmares might come true. I have to finally be able to love you, or I have to lose you.

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