I still remember all the first times: the first time you looked at me, the first time you smiled. I remember when you touched my face, a timid child-like on the cheek. I was so afraid. I wanted to run away. I couldn't stand how things would always get in the way. Your friends, my family. Work, life in general. I hated how they would look at you, at us.
But then you would always be there, obscuring everything else from sight.
I couldn't stop myself from getting closer to you. I couldn't stay away. I couldn't stop the looks, the touches, the way my breath would always stick painfully in my chest.
I couldn't stop the looks, the leers. I couldn't breathe anymore. I love you so much. But I can't stand your smiles; I can't stand your laughter; I can't stand you brushing everything off. I won't be your dead weight. I won't drag you down. I won't be the stain on your shirt.
Worse still--I never want to witness you falling. I'd be lying if I said I can't stand you. But I have to hate you.
Don't do this again. Don't turn to me. Don't smile; don't lift my chin. Don't pull me close.
Please.
Don't see through me.
Again. You hold me close to you, whisper softly in my ear. There's nothing more I could ever dream for. Nothing more I could ever need. Pull me closer. Hold me tighter.
Even if this is wrong, if the world should persecute us both. Should I care? I've forgotten to think of such things.