I like you.

I like you.

I like you.

They have faded away, submerged in the deep fissures of broken scars. Scars threatening to resume euphoric bleeding at any given moment. Any moment now.

To be replaced. Exchanged for words akin to:

I love you.

As cliché as it may sound, I just know. That much, I know, is certain. Truly. Honestly.

You don't know me. But... but, I think I know you. I think I love you. No. Not think I love you. I know I love you. I know, for sure.

It's still difficult for me to understand how I know. But, at this point, does it matter? I've fallen.

Skipping my stop, I decide to wait. Wait for him to get off first. I want to know. I want to know where he gets off.

One stop. Two stop. Three stop. I'm crazy.

Four stop. Five stop. Six stop. What am I doing?

Seven stop. Eight stop. Nine stop. I should get to work... I should really get to work today...

And I get off at the tenth stop to catch a bus back. Back in time... before I like you became I love you.

To start again most faithfully.