I cried, but I didn't understand why, so I laid there for awhile in thought.
As I became one with darkness, I realized:
I feel inadequate.
I am smart.
You are smarter.
I am strong.
You are stronger.
I am stubborn.
You are stubborner.
(Not that I'd ever tell you to your face.
I've got to keep up appearances you know.)
I'm genuine.
But you are moreso.
So when I told you that I think I love you,
my feeling of inadequacy grew.
I don't want you to admit to feelings that are untrue,
but I wish you could decide if you love me too.
I can't tell you any of this.
You'll draw back inside yourself.
So I'll continue to hide it.
I hope I don't shrivel up and die.