Because I like you.
Does it sound simple? It should be. Even when I’m crumbling inside every time I get questioned about things I myself don’t understand. I mean, the process of you slipping every second of my thoughts and making everything that runs through my day about you? I can’t seem to elaborate, ain’t it? Or perhaps, the way I always hate to let you go — be it one second or one whole day (which I’m, questionably also, always over-worrying it would turn into weeks and months in the blink of an eye). I don’t know. Pick my struggle. Because I don’t also know when I started imagining holding hands with you — which is cliche because I would always start my ironic love story by that — even when that part of you only exists in dreams (which are not even mine). But I, I should know, right? I should know what to answer when the question turns into the slightest demand that you let out too effortlessly under your finger, but corrupts my braincells that barely remain whenever we talk about our blurred vision — mine, to be exact.
And that’s on:
1. Why do I want to spend my time with you, a lot more than the portion I give to anyone else.
2. Why do I always say you’re an exception (God damn do you think I know how does that happen? Because no, I have no fucking idea. My love’s rotten inside my lungs and I barely even realize it.)
3. Why do I get sad over the simplest thing when it comes to you, which comes to the happy point as well, which comes to every emotion that both keeps me intact or tears me into pieces.
4. Why do I cross my own lines and why do I blurt everything out.
5. Why do I want to get to know more about you.
I believe the list should go longer by the time. Or not. It’s not on my hand to decide. Because my heart screams too loud when it hears your name and it keeps on hallucinating that your voice calls me out on every occasion in tale-like scenarios. If that’s too hard to define, I’ll make it simple.
Because I like you.
