You give back what you give away.

My feelings have never been this mixed up and confusing (and confused,) so I took the easy way out and called them love. And I’m certain that the label is perfectly fitting. As dramatic as it sounds, being in love with you is one of the hardest things I’ve had to go through. You’ve unknowingly yet willingly broken my heart, but you’ve also helped me to accept myself exactly the way I am. Sometimes I truly wish I could hate you, main reason being that you don’t love me back, never have, never will. Loving you this much without seeing anything in return feels quite lonely. I do want to hate you, but I love you too much to comply.

I’m looking out the window and I feel your ghost hugging me from behind and resting his head on my shoulder. I cover his hands with mine. He likes the view so much. At this time there are more stars in the sky than at any other. I point out the faint smell of forest that tends to make itself present when it’s rainy. He smiles and says he hadn’t noticed before. He wouldn’t normally care, but the air is fresh and it goes with the moment too well. We fall silent. It’s something he’ll always remember, even if years go by and erase every other memory. He’ll never mention it - he thinks that I’ll deem it meaningless. He’s wrong. He should know it by now.

I tell him about that dream I had. I knew I wouldn’t die when I jumped out the window. I knew I could fly. It’s of no importance, except in that dream I was almost as happy. I don’t think he can tell that on the inside I’m jumping, dancing, laughing, oh so alive. I’m calm and relaxed on the outside, and it might be because I have his arms around me. Soothing, safe, guarding me from the windy night and making me want to fall asleep right then. My head falls back a little, and my eyes are closing. I’m fully giving in.

Let me tell you, your ghost is an admirable companion. Even so, he’s too much like you. That means I’d gladly choke him to death every now and then. It’s inherently impossible for me to love someone if there’s no drama. Rainbows, roses and unicorns are too monotonous and go disregarded if there’s no contrast. He knows this, but I don’t think he understands. Drama is so stressful for him, and I think he half resents me, half loves me for laughing at it. But he puts up with it with admirable patience, and eventually he stops giving it too much importance. That’s why it feels that he’s truly your ghost and not my wild imagination; the only difference between the two of you is that he loves me.

Trust me, he’s happy with me. It might be too complex of an evidence, but he tends to run his fingers through my hair when he thinks I’m sleeping. I won’t let him do that when I’m awake. I absolutely hate my hair, but he loves how my (strangely formed) curls feel between his fingers. He loves playing with them, maybe just because they’re mine. He always insists I wear my hair down and sometimes I just wear it up so he begs me to let it down. He knows and complies, even though he’s normally too proud to beg. But in the end we’re happy, because knowing that we’re both willing to do such things if they can make the other person happy is somewhat reassuring. Little things. Always those little things. He appreciates them as much as I do.

That’s why sometimes I feel like wishing for you to love me back is not as selfish as it might seem - I really believe I could make you happy. I don’t wish just for something, anything, because I’m not satisfied until I get the real thing. I don’t care if it’s too much, less isn’t enough. And that’s exactly what I’m willing to give. And even more. Starting from, believe it or not, I’d give you as much space as you needed, even though it will always be my secret desire to hide you away from the world and have you all to myself. (Mind you, I’m not here to kidnap you. Unless you’re into that kind of thing and want us to roleplay. I don’t know. Awkward remark had to be made, or I didn’t write this.)

Other than that, you know the deal. We both know I’m as imperfect as it gets. I’m a poor excuse of a woman. I’m not particularly(/at all?) pretty, smart, funny, mature, friendly, secure, charming, motivated, knowledgeable, talented or lovable. Or even normal. I have a personality that’s commonly regarded as impossible. I’m lacking in every single department, and it’s obvious that you deserve better.

In my defense, as my only weapon, I could love you more than you believe it’s possible. I’d be the girl that wouldn’t be able to look at you without happiness being painfully obvious in her expression. I’d be the girl that would bring up old conversations she only remembers because she treasures every second with you. I’d be the girl that would turn everything into a joke just to see you laugh. I’d be the girl that would endlessly tease you (and because I still feel like being awkward, take that as you wish.) I’d to that in knowledge that deep down you wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d be the girl that could change if you wanted her to, drawing a line and without losing herself. I’d be the girl that knows and acknowledges your every flaw, and loves you for them. I’d be the girl that would smile when your lips touch hers. Just because it’s you, and it’s truly happening. Every single time.

And I dare you to find that somewhere else.