Can I tell you all the things I think of when I think of you?

Am I allowed to tell you that sometimes I think of you often and other times I don’t think of you at all?

I dreamt of you once, and we didn’t do much worth remembering; just know I woke up and could still see your face. 

I want to tell you all my thoughts of you but that doesn’t mean you want to hear it. 


Can I write all the things I think when I think of you? 

I’d like that. 

You don’t even have to know it’s here, or that this one’s about you. 

And maybe that’s better if you don’t know. Because the last time I told you, you feared the real feeling that could have washed over us if you let me love you. 

One day I will allow myself to tell you and I won’t be frightened wondering if you fear my words or not. 

And I’ll keep writing; keeping you a secret from even you. 

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