Work of fiction.


I used to write a lot when I was younger. Not to say that I’m old, but you get it. Anyway, check this out.

I’m caught up in you. It’s safe to say. It’s strange, when I think about it. The line is blurred, but I don’t mind to cross it. I don’t care but to get entranced by the seemingly unending personification of great grace you epitomize. I have known this from a distance for a while, but have failed to ever find it in myself to discover the depths of your heart’s well. Granted, our paths, albeit parallel in ways, have crossed through another. Do I take that into consideration? Am I getting in too deep? Where are you on all of this? Confliction. Not on my end. I know where my head and heart lie. Years of potential happiness vastly outweigh weeks of potential awkwardness. I often want to ask, want to go for it, want to try, want to please, want to love, want to be the one, want to find the one, want to be one. Could this be it? I would be overwhelmingly satisfied if it were. But who is to say you’re even on the same page, with your quick quips and sarcastic flirtations. How seriously are you taking all of this? You said when you know, you know. I might know. I want to know. I want to know you. I want you. It’s an incredible weight released just jotting those simple words. God damnit. I. Want. You. I have struggled in the past with others. I know this. We have both shared turbulent times and have both come out on top. Rising like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes. Forget the status quo and social constructs of our generation. Let’s give it a shot. I’m ready. A combination of our individual greatnesses. I’d say lets do it to make them all jealous, but it’s not about anyone else. I want nothing more than to love and be loved in return. If the opportunity arises, let’s take it. I’m on board. I’m all in. Little did I know, you would be just as great as imagined, and then some. Maybe this is all for naught. Perfectly broken.

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