poetic liar

i'm a liar. this time it's not even in the sporty way. i'm the worst kind of liar: i lied to myself.

awhile ago, i posted a blog about a man i have a tremendous amount of affection for. i think i actually said i was "crazy about him." that hasn't changed. i tried to change it. i did. wait, see, there i go lying again. i really thought about ignoring my feelings for him. it's impossible. truth be told, i don't want to.

i don't want to be the emotional martyr and suffer in silence. i don't want to deny how profoundly he's touched me. my mom actually likes him. i always tell her that we're just friends and to get off of my back. one day she confessed, "the reason i like him is because i haven't heard you laugh this much in years." it's true. there's just something about him that has resuscitated my soul. the banter, the bickering, the jokes, seeing his face, hearing his voice, the whole essence of him makes me glow. how can you intentionally repress that?

maybe he just happened to coincide with my natural healing process. maybe i would've felt this alive if i'd never met him, but i'll never know. i don't much care. it's not like my emotional well-being in hinged solely on him. he just makes my world so much better by existing.

so, fuck homeboy status. if he doesn't want me, so be it. but i'm not going to censure myself on account of emotional self-preservation. i'm tired of being so goddamn cautious. i want to do things for him and make him smile. i don't expect anything in return. there is, however, a whole laundry list of things i'd like, but i digress. making him happy makes me happy. besides, i feel like i'm returning the favor.

just because i'm crazy about him doesn't mean we can't be friends...it just means i can't tell him.