I think I have loved you for as long as my soul has been alive—it just crept up on me. I realize now that I’ve never been in love before; since the moment I met you, all I have felt is laughter, ease, and a sense of joy. All I wanted was to kiss you and that cute smile.
But now you say you just want to be friends—yet you stare at me with an intensity that everyone else notices, because it shows how much you truly care. I spoke to you from my soul, and you told me, "It's okay, I don't hate you." You held my gaze and you saw me—truly saw my soul. You told me it will be okay, that maybe things will change, that maybe one day I can be in connection with my brothers again.
You have the name of my brother, the one who used to love me back. We talk, we don’t touch; you are so respectful. I never thought a man like you would exist. Yes, you are flawed, and maybe you aren't "enough" to be my boyfriend, but I wonder if love can heal wounds, if it can change me.
Yesterday, you stopped me and asked, "Are you okay?" I said, "No, maybe it's my complex PTSD." I began to stutter and contort my face to hide it, and you said, "You can stutter around me. Take your time. It's okay." I told you I hate it, and you remained silent in your acceptance. In that moment, I felt that maybe I am not such a freak. Maybe I don’t have to hide. Maybe I don’t need to try to erase myself from the earth anymore; maybe I matter.
I realize how desolate my life has been. I stare at the sky, so blue, and I think of your hazel eyes. In two months, you have helped me heal wounds I spent my whole lifetime trying to fix. I understand now: love heals. I just want the best for you, even if it’s not with me, although it pains me. I think I just love you, though I don’t know if I will ever tell you that.
When you hug me—I was with you yesterday—my laugh felt foreign to my own ears. I haven't laughed like that in so long; usually, it’s all a performance. But with you, it is real. You explain scientific theory, and it feels like poetry. I am so into you. I don't know how to tell you—although I already have—that your words hurt me, even though I know you are hurting, too.
You provoke a deep, true longing within me; a knowing that this love is changing me, showing me my mirror. You show me that I don’t need to hate myself anymore, that the lies I was told my whole life were just lies. Maybe good men do exist. I won’t give up on believing that, but it has taken me 29 years of hell and limerence to have someone creep into my life, never leaving my side, no matter how snobby I was.
You laugh with me; you see behind my pained eyes and tell me, "You're not tough at all, you're soft, and I love that about you." And with that, my walls collapsed. I put on a tough show for the world, but I am not tough at all—I am just truly, deeply exhausted.
3d ago
May 31, 2026 at 3:28 PM UTC
I think I have loved you for as long as my soul has been alive—it just crept up on me. I realize now that I’ve never been in love before; since the moment I met you, all I have felt is laughter, ease, and a sense of joy. All I wanted was to kiss you and that cute smile.
But now you say you just want to be friends—yet you stare at me with an intensity that everyone else notices, because it shows how much you truly care. I spoke to you from my soul, and you told me, "It's okay, I don't hate you." You held my gaze and you saw me—truly saw my soul. You told me it will be okay, that maybe things will change, that maybe one day I can be in connection with my brothers again.
You have the name of my brother, the one who used to love me back. We talk, we don’t touch; you are so respectful. I never thought a man like you would exist. Yes, you are flawed, and maybe you aren't "enough" to be my boyfriend, but I wonder if love can heal wounds, if it can change me.
Yesterday, you stopped me and asked, "Are you okay?" I said, "No, maybe it's my complex PTSD." I began to stutter and contort my face to hide it, and you said, "You can stutter around me. Take your time. It's okay." I told you I hate it, and you remained silent in your acceptance. In that moment, I felt that maybe I am not such a freak. Maybe I don’t have to hide. Maybe I don’t need to try to erase myself from the earth anymore; maybe I matter.
I realize how desolate my life has been. I stare at the sky, so blue, and I think of your hazel eyes. In two months, you have helped me heal wounds I spent my whole lifetime trying to fix. I understand now: love heals. I just want the best for you, even if it’s not with me, although it pains me. I think I just love you, though I don’t know if I will ever tell you that.
When you hug me—I was with you yesterday—my laugh felt foreign to my own ears. I haven't laughed like that in so long; usually, it’s all a performance. But with you, it is real. You explain scientific theory, and it feels like poetry. I am so into you. I don't know how to tell you—although I already have—that your words hurt me, even though I know you are hurting, too.
You provoke a deep, true longing within me; a knowing that this love is changing me, showing me my mirror. You show me that I don’t need to hate myself anymore, that the lies I was told my whole life were just lies. Maybe good men do exist. I won’t give up on believing that, but it has taken me 29 years of hell and limerence to have someone creep into my life, never leaving my side, no matter how snobby I was.
You laugh with me; you see behind my pained eyes and tell me, "You're not tough at all, you're soft, and I love that about you." And with that, my walls collapsed. I put on a tough show for the world, but I am not tough at all—I am just truly, deeply exhausted.