A name that cannot be love

I always told myself it wasn’t love. Lust, yes. Infatuation, absolutely. But, love was not in the air. Or at least I didn’t allow it to be.

I didn’t want it to hurt, I was protecting myself. But if it wasn’t love, why does this hurt eight years later. We had times, years, of not talking to each other. But I still thought of you. And when we started talking again it made my heart so happy. I had missed our late night talks, just rambling on about anything and everything.

I was taken off guard when you said you had been thinking of me as well.  That’s when my heart started to hurt. Neither of us in a position to be together but still holding feelings for each other. Yet we still continued to talk.

I can’t ask for you to elaborate on how you feel or what this means. It wouldn’t change anything and might make the pain worse.

We should stop this, before anyone gets hurt. Or at least anyone besides us. But I don’t want to. I want to keep exploring with you.

Here’s to another night of writing words I’ll never say. Out of fear I was interpreting your feelings wrong. Or worse I’m interpreting them correctly and we’ll just be cliche star crossed lovers. Even writing those words make me cringe, it’s such a cliche.

I want to stop questioning what you feel or what your thinking. I want to stop overthinking the situation.

So the question is still is this love? I don’t know, and that answer is agonizing me daily.