This piece is just breathtaking. The language, the story–beautiful.
When I talk to you, fear deep from inside finds me.
It grows worse as we become closer.
What about her feelings, are they the same?
What did she mean by that period she put at the end of that sentence but not the other?
And what of the other?
My heart begins pounding, and the longer I wait to tell you;
the more, more, more.
Sometimes I am just racing, chasing my thoughts-invigorated by doubt and become saddened and distraught. Maybe it’s all this time on my hands that makes our interaction feel like I’m a clumsy ball of flailing hands.
But then I hate it, how I feel; the anxiety all too real for some text on a screen.
I want you there to hold my eyes with yours and tell me there’s nothing there
it’s just a period. How could some one be afraid, afraid of grammar.
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