If only life wasn’t filled with so many ifs *sigh* If, and only if.
Would it be better, if I could tell you how I really feel? If the next time your eyes met mine in the half darkness of a moodily lit bar, their reflection glowing in the whiskey inhabiting the glass between your fingers, I just said, “I want you to be mine”? Would it make me feel better, then, to have you reach your fingers across the table between us, and interlace them with mine while you gave me your response? Would I not shrink and die of the agonising embarrassment that comes with feeling (as if feeling were somehow less natural than breathing or sleeping)?
If I could tell you how I really feel, would you tell me you feel it back? Would it be the Hollywood happy ending that I’ve rehearsed in my mind, every moment since I met you? The rehearsal, so you know, just in case I…
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