I don’t regret being in love with you. I regret that I never told you about it.
I don’t know how to say it. Every single time I saw you, I tried to voice out what I meant. Every single time anyone mentioned your name, I would feel a pang of regret and desperation. Because I knew what I felt, and I knew what this was, what I was feeling towards you… but I didn’t dare risk everything.
It is probably my fault for this. I can’t blame myself for falling for you, but it is my fault for not telling you about it. I had learnt the feeling of a trusted one betraying you at too young an age. I couldn’t bear losing another person I considered a friend, and I knew what was at stake if I told you. You were always so happy, but whenever anyone mentioned anything close to it, you would flinch… and I knew that we could never be.
But I tried. I tried and tried in the faintest of ways. I tried to make you realise it. But you never did. And I never tried to get any more open about it. We both had reputations to uphold. The rumour itself would be damaging enough.
Nobody suspected the truth. Nobody suspected that it would be you. Even I wasn’t aware of it at first. But as time went on, as I started to notice that I kept looking at your every move, and listening to your every word, I realised it. I was in love with you… or as close to love as I could be.
I wanted you. But I had to hold myself back to keep myself from having you right there and then.
And I still don’t know how you would respond. My brain is pulling me back, but my heart is guiding me forwards. And for now, I remain here, caught between choices. And I realise that I am not in one of my fantasy worlds, not in one of the places whose events I could control fully; this was the real world, and thus, there was only one point of view I could see.
I feel so alone. Because I can see, literally, just there, in front of me; and I knew that if I just walked forwards, just opened my voice to voice those three words, it might work out.
But it also might not. And I would be risking everything; my existing relation with you, my current status in the community – something I spent years working on, years I spent making people accept me – and I didn’t want to. I didn’t dare. Because if you rejected me, that would be it. Word would be out. And I couldn’t bear that thought.
But I also knew that you would leave, sooner or later.
And I can’t even begin to think about what might happen.
You may not have worked it out, but I am hoping that you will. Because I can’t make the move. I don’t even know how you’ll respond.
But you can.
Written by Adrian Dakota, 22 May 2011.