secret 2

You see, it’s like this. I seem to remember back when we were talking on facebook, or if not, what you should probably know about me now, is that it’s just hard for me to deal with people…face to face, you know? I’ve always felt I had a mental block against the shit: keeping a conversation going, shootin the shit, being fearless to offend. What seems to happen when someone is otherwise able to say the next word and avoid uncomfortable silence, I get this abstract vicious circle. I rightfully assume I don’t know what to say next, then dwell on it, then linger and try to think of something to say, which reaffirms my self-fulfilling prophesy, then dwell and linger again. It’s just a cloud of thought: all passion and no substance, all theory and no action.

Basically, and I do want and try to keep this as basic as possible, I think I’m strange and that makes me think that people think that I’m strange. Vicious cycle, yeah. The notion that this misfortune that has seemed to have befallen me is, to me, strange in and of itself. But I still feel it, and experience it, and it all seems to revolve around whom I open up to and how much, which I should say is the point I’m trying to make here. I’m way, too, conscious about what I say. I am indeliberately waiting for the next time I say something that offends. Just putting it into words blows it way out of proportion, it’s such an insignificant obstacle, but things being as they’ve been the last couple years it’s seemed to govern how I exchange words with people. I just pull out only the right words from the cloud and hope for the best.

So, this is what you should know. Whereas I’m struggling to open up as little as possible to anyone, co-workers, sometimes even family and friends, I bring simply no fault upon myself were I to open up to you, to find words in a cloud which I’ll at first think are too strange to say but are personal truths all the same. And I open up to you, in a way I was sure I forgot how, or, daresay, never knew, and it’s matched with an unprecedented understanding, both between the lines and in black and white. I think about that every chance I get to pass the time, how touching and encouraging it is. And how confusing it all seems to become, for both of us, and I start to wonder what you think. Which is why what comes next I dwelled so much on, what I fear I’ll bring fault upon myself for.

All this, isn’t some sort of responsibility towards me that I’m putting on you, and whatever you’re feeling should be more important to you right now than how I will feel, it’s just…

No one’s done what you’ve done for me before.
And that makes me nervous, and it makes me unsure.
But my heart is pounding as I type and I know that it’s love. Undeniably.
And it’s the truth.

Forget it. Way overblown.