This is something I've written, stone cold in the night. I don't think I'd ever be able to do this for a very long time. It's something I've once felt, and I don't want to go through that agony again.
I've memorized the creases in your eyes when you smile, the way you put your hands in your pocket when you're shy. I've noticed the infinitesimally tiny mole on your right cheek just beneath your gray eyes. You love jazz but you'd listen to pop songs to prevent everyone from feeling uncomfortable. You hate going to clubs, and would rather sit at home with an open book in your lap and your cat curled up upon the couch.
You've told me countless of things, things like singing musical songs to yourself in the park when you are alone, dancing under the sunlight from the lamp posts. From the days where you dress up in a suit and the most expensive of slacks to stroll around the park, to the times you've spent hunched over the desk for days, trying to discover who you really are, and your purpose for subsisting in a world unkind as this.
You've once told me that I was the only person to ever see you cry, for emotions are a restraint you've limit yourself to. I was the only one there to talk to you on your bad days, and held you together when everything else was falling apart. And though I did not let it show, in me I swelled with pride.
And now here I am, standing in front of you, looking at you. You smirk at me, that crooked grin only meant for my eyes. I help you pick out a tie, the red one, because it goes with your dark velvet eyes. I wrap it around your neck and tie it up, sliding my fingers across your chest, smoothening out your hair. You hold my cold fingers and blow into them, before drawing the strings of your dress shoes, and standing up.
I tell you that you look charming, and you said I wouldn't be able to look more effervescent than I do today, though I knew I looked like a mess. You've never failed to make me blush, have you?
And then you kiss me, first starting from the crown of my hair, and I close my eyes in sheer ecstacy. Then, you move to where my hairline meets the scalp, slowly sliding across to my forehead, then gently down to my nose. My arms hang limp at my sides, feeling your fingers brush my temples, tilting my head ever so slightly to yours. My heart races, beats, thumps ravagely in my chest as my skin writhes in discomfort, anticipating a brush of your lips against mine.
I thought the more I knew about you, gradually the more you would learn to love me too. But again and again, I am beaten down by my own insolence. You turn around to leave, but first blowing a kiss my way. My soul stretches, aches and yearns for the physical touch of our skin but I only laugh and wink to hide my shame.
You walk. Out of the room, out of the door, out of reach, and into her arms. I hear her laugh and thank you for the roses. Pink I said, always a girl's favourite. Well. At least mine.
I lie back across your bed and hug your clothes to my bare skin, breathing you in, breathing you out. I flip over to my side, and I wonder, my darling, how long would it take for you to realize that I have been in love with you so.