I'm in love with you.
God. It's a dirty word. Love.
An oxymoronic, idiotic, self-assured word.
Makes hearts break. Makes girls cry at night. Makes guys wonder if they've made the right choice.
Falling in love. Infatuation. Amity. Passion. Ardour. Proclaiming, stating, motivating…
It's all the same thing.
Even that phrase, that iridescent mock of a phrase makes my skin crawl. First a pronoun, standing tall and bold, then trailing behind is that reckless noun, before completion, is the final and thoughtless noun that sweats out all the doubt in your soul.
Truth is, I don't want to be in love with you. Hell, I don't even know why. But somehow, something, forces me to look at you, it forces me to mumble, to trip, to stutter, to blush, to exaggerate, to try and catch your attention…
Before it's too late.
Before it tears me out, and you notice.
The shadow of a girl who I once was.
All because of-