I think that I love you. I just want to throw that out there, that I might love you. Ok, there's really no "might" about this. My heart is screaming that there's no two ways around it; I love you. My biggest fear right now is that I'll blurt it out, unknowing and unwilling, at the most inappropriate time, terrifying both you and me with the force of my emotional conviction.

This newfound emotional attachment (fine! maybe it's not so "newfound") has me playing chicken with myself, an emotional basket case trapped in a larger bubble of unease. (The bubble is, by the way, floating through a pinprick-riddled atmosphere of nerves)

At the same time, I worry that I'm not assertive enough with my wants. Maybe because I don't know what I want? Or I assume without giving you the chance for input what your opinion's going to be, and save myself the rejection? Or because I belittle my own desires, shooing them away like pesky taunts from the back of my mind? What do I tell you? What do you care about? What do I hide in my shell? I know I'm not as emotionally incompetent as I give myself credit for, and I can't continually internalize this idea of being emotionally crippled or crutched -- or eventually I'll make it true. When is sharing too much, and when does it become greedy of your ears, your time, your feedback?

When your face passes through my mind, I smile in warmth.
When your laugh crosses my ears, I grin and want to say anything that would make you laugh again.
When you smile into me, I melt and my mind goes blank.


I love you?