I always thought, there was something wrong with me. How could I believe differently? When nothing I’ve ever done was right, everything I’ve done is wrong. That lesson was pounded over and over again into my brain. I’ve dealt with it as best I could, when I was a child. I still deal with it as best I can, as an adult. It doesn’t ever go away.

I’ve loved him since the moment he spoke to me. What I would give to touch him. To feel him touch me would be a heavenly bliss. Would he disappoint me? Quite possibly he could. I’ve built him into a paragon, a paladin of sorts. He who will fight for me, he who will defend me, he who will protect me, he who I wish would love me.

His name is on my lips as I make love to a faceless person. His face in my minds eye as the act continues. His touch, I know not. I tell myself, he is too good for me. He isn’t interested in me. He cannot be! Why not, I want to scream to the heavens above. Why can I not have peace and love and happiness? Why should, I when it’s all foreign to me?

And yet, a feeling pulls at the core of my being. He draws me to him. He encompasses my world, I smell him before I see him, I feel him before he touches me. He does touch me. He touches my face, my arm, my back. When he folds me in his arms, he sighs, deeply. I wonder if it’s that he feels sorry for me? I wonder if he feels as strongly for me, as I do for him. When he’s around me, my senses are heightened. I feel everything more strongly; my sense of scent is highly attuned. I swear, I could hear him laugh a mile away.

How will I ever find out if he feels the same for me? And if I did find out and the answer was nay, would that make our friendship sour? That price is too high. At least, it is, for me. My blood freezes cold at that thought. You know, sometimes I think too very much.