It’s been a while now since I realised I love you. Quite a ride, ha?
I guess I’ll be talking to you on here now. Because well, có là gì đâu mà nói. Cũng không có quyền nói.
I cried my eyes out yesterday. Broke things and punched walls and screamed my lungs out as if I would never need it anymore.
Sorry I did not dare to tell you how hurt I was. It’s just.. I don’t think I can do that anymore.. I know things were tough lately for you..
I am sorry I made it worse..
I really am.
Have you ever thought that these days have not been easy for me either?
And the one person I want to talk to the most barely looks me in the eye yet less replies my texts…
I haven’t cried that much for so many years. Tch, yea, I surprised myself as well.
Why do I care so much just to get hurt this badly?
Quite frankly, I don’t even know myself.
It’s just… it’s you.
And in some crazy sense, deep down I always want to believe that you would not hurt me.
I hope you’re truly okay. Mọi chuyện có tệ thế nào, chỉ cần Hoài không sao, mọi thứ sẽ nhẹ nhàng hơn một chút.
Nên ừ, hiểu cho em.
Bleh, too heavy. (subtly change topic)
Did you notice? I look at you a lot, when you were not looking.
I think someone told me before, when someone openly stares at you, it means they’re attracted to you. But when someone looks at you in silence, it means they’re in love with you.
Because different from people who compliment you and are interested in you who intention are shallow, the people who truly love you want to capture every moment of you. And they do it commonly in secret.
Because there’s one thing about love. It can live and not need to be known of or aware of or returned.
Okay, back to every moment of you. Pardon me, I go off topic a lot, as always.
How you frown a bit when you focus. How you play with your fingers when you read. How you smile and shake your head. How you run your fingers through your hair. Or you know, little things. Your eyes. Your nose. Your moles. Your lips. Your hair.
I could go on for more but meh, I’ll keep the rest to myself.
Okay, one more. Your hand. I love your hands. They’re cold and firm and soft and held mine tight.
I constantly asked myself these repetitive questions whenever I look at you, or when your eyes are locked on mine.
How can a person could be this pleasing to just look at?
How can ones eyes seem so kind yet so brutal at the same time?
How do you have such a gentle smile?
How is your hair always all over your face and falls messily on your shoulders ?
How does your hand always know its way around?
How come I never recognised that mole on your left cheek?
What are you thinking?
How are you feeling?
How can anyone not fall in love with you?
They’ll be crazy not to.