screaming at a wall
9:00pm

c --

if i may make a tremendously geeky metaphor, i feel like i'm stuck in a recursive loop. the program encounters a fatal error, and as a result of encountering the fatal error it starts again from the beginning, but the program hasn't changed, so it follows a path that leads it directly back to the fatal error. repeat, repeat, repeat.

i wonder sometimes if you really understand how hard i'm working at keeping things non-awkward between us. sometimes i feel like half of the time i spend around you, i'm just forcing myself not to tell you how gorgeous you are, not to put my hand over yours, not to take one step closer and kiss you. actually, scratch that -- it's more like 75 percent of the time.

i think the only thing i've learned in the last two years is that you can't make somebody fall in love with you. which, actually, is something that many people never learn, so i suppose those years weren't a total loss. i know intellectually that i'll almost certainly do more harm than good to our relationship by trying to make you love me, so i stop myself -- over and over and over again -- from trying. but goddamn, it's fucking hard.

i was about to say something the other night at the restaurant, and i stopped, and you demanded to know what it was, and even though you pushed and pushed i wouldn't tell you. i could tell that bothered you a bit. so here's approximately what i was going to say:

"i was just thinking that there isn't anything about you that i don't like. with every other girl i've wanted, i've thought that she would be a perfect girl if it wasn't for [insert personality trait here.] but that's not there with you. i love the way you think, i love the way you look, i love your taste in music, i love the way you're devoted to your art, i love the way you're a bitch to people that deserve it and a complete sweetheart to those that don't. and i'm in love with you for all those reasons, and you're damn sexy for all those reasons, and i want to take you home right now and just make love to you from now till, like, august. and then we could break for a shower."

maybe i should have said that; it would have set up the awkward shirt perfectly.

i wonder if you're getting sick of me telling you things like this, or if you like it. and if you like it, i wonder why you do. is it just nice to have your ego stroked? is it nice to have these love letters pile up, letters that you can read at any time and take pleasure in the idea that you're the center of somebody's universe, even if you don't want him to be the center of yours? do you just want your old boyfriend back, and miss the way he loved you, and see a faint reflection of that in the words i write?

i suppose, upon rational examination of the situation, that if you were to kiss me, the world would not suddenly become perfect. but it sure feels like it would.

love, t.

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