I like you

 This goes out to you. Whoever you are. I might know you as I write this. Maybe I haven't yet. This is my cliche confession for when we get there.

I don't fully understand what draws me to you. My rules of attraction are very simple, really. Just engage with me and make me feel seen, and you've won my side.

It's immature, I know. I mean, to fall head over heels for someone who just treated me with decency speaks a lot about how mentally ill I must be. 

So I try— I really do— to logistify the process (if logistify is even a word). I have to make sense of it all; Make sure I picked the right person. I don't really want to fail at all. Which is kinda funny, because failure is inevitable. 

To make sense of it all, our ideals must match. We must meet on some common ground. Is that all it requires? I mean, I've liked a girl once because someone told me I liked her, even though I didn't. But when I was told how to feel, I simply had to meet that expectation and act accordingly. 

I despise the idea of being this innocent constant romantic. This isn't what life's about. At least, it isn't everything life's about. Some people don't find love. Some don't need it, either. I'm not one of those folks. 

I'm going to be honest; When I wrote this, I was in a fit of rage. I still am. I can feel it bubbling and boiling in my chest. I don't understand why I feel this anger. I can't make sense of it at all. I can't tie it to a person or an event because that seems like an unfair lie. To blame someone for a fit or a feeling I don't understand sounds immature. I don't want to be immature. Maybe I'm pretending to be old? Preventing my child-like self from being really stupid and actually ... itself? 

Nah, that sounds like a load of hogwash.

This was supposed to be a confession letter to you; I don't think it's that anymore. I don't think I'll ever show you this. I will show you my blog. I will show you my stuff and hope that you're interested. But maybe you won't be. And that's ok. I share this with some of my family and closest friends. Just because I'm practicing writing and have a good style doesn't mean they have the time or interest. I still love them, though. They still love me too. 

Too many bits and details.

Good night :)

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