N. 62

“Would it be selfish of me to declare my love to you? Would it be selfish to let you continue to fall in love with me?” In my moment of desperation I think to myself is it something either of us can control at this point?

“You know I never did believe in love anyways. We give excuses and names for momentary whims of excitement and emotions. Who has greater feelings for the other?” Before giving him the chance to answer she continued, “if you can’t answer me that… and you certainly can’t! How can you possibly quantify your emotions, and then mine? I’m not in the business of making lies, I don’t know why you insist on these ideas..”

He was incredulous, unable to believe what he was hearing. “But you are in the business of making lies! You sit there comfortably coffee in hand professing how certain emotions are a fabrication simply because you are unable to quantify them, yet, as a race we’re entirely unable to quantify a myriad of things of things only bound by infinity. How absurd, cruel, and jaded you must be. We spend days and nights in each others arms, and time elapses having bound us together by moments of laughs and tears. We spend days and nights a part, and we never really are a part, at least I’ve never felt it. What exceptional qualities you must possess to be able to release these feelings in me. You tell yourself you don’t believe in love because it’s easier than dealing with reality. And that’s the difference between you and I. I willingly surrender to the affection and so I am at peace. And I insist on this idea for you, and for what could be.

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