I'm so sorry. I think I'm fucking with your mind. I think I'm fucking with my mind. In all honesty I'm not sure what it is that I'm doing. To you or to me. I wonder if you know.
I do not want to say it. I know that I like you, that much is undeniable, but the fact remains that in the late hours of night and the early ones of the morning it's him I think about. Sometimes though you shyly take his place. But very rarely, usually when I wonder what I feel for you.
I can't deny the shared smiles, the knowing glances when we share a private joke or a certain intimacy. And the thought of those moments makes my heart constricts. I'm complicating things I know I am. I'm so sorry.
Please don't like me. I'll hurt you. It's one thing to fuck my emotions up and another entirely to do that to you. Stop coming so close you might get to know me much better that I can stand. More than you can stand.
Isn't it
Sorry,
Emilia
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