And it's like that. Always. With me loving her more than she knows-platonic, mind you-and her not. Loving me maybe, but not as much. Not nearly as much.
And then him. With my secrets and his. Yet, it's all in the open. Open secrets. Flirting. Glances. Why isn't it secret? And it is. Secret is exactly it. What does he feel; what do I feel; what do others feel; why do I care?
View User's Journal
 |
