You don’t have to read this. It will do you no good if you do, but then again neither will it do you any bad. There is this boy, who I would love to tell I love. My entire being yearns to tell him that I care for him. But I cant. Not because I’m scared of rejection but for some personal reasons I can’t even reveal here, on an anonymous blog. But I can write down what I wish I could tell that boy. So here goes nothing:
I wish this wasn’t true but it is. Your heart would probably soar the wide blue sky in ecstasy and triumph at having achieved what you have been yearning for so long but mine will be drowning in pain and confusion of trying not to break my promise make you my loved one before the entire world. I love you. Sometimes I wonder why I like you, because liking you is like stripping me off all my carefully built walls and layers of protection. It’s making me vulnerable. It’s making me trust you, and trust will inevitably lead to the breaking of trust. But my heart cant help hoping you would not.
I wish I knew how you so effortlessly broke into my heart. Asking neither permission or help from me. I wonder why I have this goddamned crush on you.
Why do I love? Go ask the glorious sun
Why every day it round the world doth run;
Ask the Thames and Tiber why they ebb and flow;
Ask damask roses why in June they blow;
Ask ice and hail the reason why they’re cold;
Decaying beauties, why they will grow old;
They’ll tell thee fate, that everything doth move,
Enforces them to do this, and me to love.
There is no reason for our love or hate:
‘Tis irresistible as death or fate.
‘Tis not his face: I’ve sense to see
That is not good, though doted on by me.
Nor is’t his tongue that has the conquest won,
For that at least is equalled by my own.
I’m not including the rest of the poem by “EPHIELIA” as they go on to describe an old man twice the poet’s age. Which you certainly are not.
So why do I love you? Ohh.. why?