When there's an immediate way to translate emotions into words, the abstract unfolds:
I once heard you laugh. I once heard you talk. I once heard you making fun of stuff. I once glanced at you and felt nothing.
I then thought for awhile, “Why pay attention to you? I mean, it’s no big deal really,” and so I gave away the idea of entertaining the picture of your face.
Next thing was I saw how you move. Also I noticed that you smell good. You smile with a confident wit very memorable to me. For a consolation, I also think you were pretty and sort of attractive to me.
“But what the hell?” I said. “It’s again no big deal.”
I cannot recall that there was a time I missed you. There was never a time that I looked for you. Also there will never be a chance that I’ll start savoring in mind the moments we were together. Never ever are these times to happen, except for now.
“Damn the many times I may have sounded in denial, damn the greatness that was me pretending.”
All I know is that these thoughts exist. The feeling that predominantly follows these thoughts is winning.
You are not just anyone. You are the creator of this world I’ve been narrating about in chaos.
It seems that there’s one last thing that I should do; it’s to beg you to put me into order so that you can be responsible for making me think of whatever this is and so that you can fix this mess which shouldn’t have surfaced at the very first place.
Either bring me back to the boring way I am before or love me and make my life messier and happier.
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