I want to stand beneath your balcony window, you watching me as I dissect every reason I love you. Turn my heart into a song you can hear. But I won’t. I can’t. Because I want to confess everything to you in a letter sent in 1844 without making it seem like I want a relationship. My whole life, I’ve always ******* about how social media extinguished love, how before, back before the era where situationships and 3 month rules overpowered true feelings, people chose one another and stayed together, worked hard and cared about each other so much that they fought the fights. How amazing that must’ve been. Yet here I am, drowning in disgust for myself and my avoidance of any long-term commitment. I love you, I promise you I do. But I can’t bring myself to cough it up and tell you. Not because I think you’ll reject me. On the contrary. I know you won’t. I know you’ll light up like a firefly on a sweaty august night, illuminating your own feelings you were too afraid to admit before. And then you’ll expect us to date. **** I mean even I do. But I just can’t. I won’t be with someone, someone who the mere sight of gives me goosebumps like my favorite song does. I can’t be with you. You’re a beam of sunshine shyly peering through a window, curious, cautious and adventurous. And I guess that means I’m the glass. Reflecting your efforts without ever putting in my own.
Nov 26, 2025
Nov 26, 2025 at 11:35 AM UTC
I want to stand beneath your balcony window, you watching me as I dissect every reason I love you. Turn my heart into a song you can hear. But I won’t. I can’t. Because I want to confess everything to you in a letter sent in 1844 without making it seem like I want a relationship. My whole life, I’ve always ******* about how social media extinguished love, how before, back before the era where situationships and 3 month rules overpowered true feelings, people chose one another and stayed together, worked hard and cared about each other so much that they fought the fights. How amazing that must’ve been. Yet here I am, drowning in disgust for myself and my avoidance of any long-term commitment. I love you, I promise you I do. But I can’t bring myself to cough it up and tell you. Not because I think you’ll reject me. On the contrary. I know you won’t. I know you’ll light up like a firefly on a sweaty august night, illuminating your own feelings you were too afraid to admit before. And then you’ll expect us to date. **** I mean even I do. But I just can’t. I won’t be with someone, someone who the mere sight of gives me goosebumps like my favorite song does. I can’t be with you. You’re a beam of sunshine shyly peering through a window, curious, cautious and adventurous. And I guess that means I’m the glass. Reflecting your efforts without ever putting in my own.
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