I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things but I’m sorry for being so weird. I’m sorry for being so fucking awkward and nervous. It’s just that I don’t know how to talk to you. It’s like I don’t know how to talk at all. Putting sentences together when you’re around is like trying to do complicated math equations. You’re my trigonometry and I don’t have anyone’s homework to copy this time.
Mainly I’m just saying sorry for liking that picture of you at the lake four years ago. Yes, I was stalking your profile. Yes, I do it all the time. Yes, it’s always from that summer. That was the summer I fell in love with you. It was from a distance and I never told you, not to this day. It would weird you out so I thought it was best a burden I kept myself.
We always talked before. We knew each other and were friends. We hung out as part of a group. But that summer you started wearing two piece bathing suits. Your grew what seemed like two feet and your hair went all the down your back. It shined almost white in the sun and matched the reflection of the water.
So yes, I’m obsessed with you. At least I am from a distance. I’ll go on doing that because we could never happen. Even if by some miracle it did, it would be over just as fast. I don’t know if I could take having memories of you and I together without the possibility of more. I’ll keep on speaking of your beauty. I’ll write about your perfection. I’ll immortalize you in words. I hope they do you justice and aren’t just as awkward sounding as I am in my head when scrolling through your pictures.
A Hopeless Romantic, Stirred 