Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

"I want you
I want you so bad
I want you
I want you so bad it's drivin' me mad
It's driving me mad"
     -- The Beatles

Thing is, I don't think I can tell her. Even though I know she already knows. (No, let me take that back -- I'm "pretty sure" she knows. Or at least her already knowing would explain some things, and it's probably been pretty hard to miss the signs of how I've felt for so long.) But if I say it to her aloud, I'm pretty sure our little approach-avoid dance would change both amplitude and frequency, and things would get strange. (Our formal relationship may complicate things as well.)

I want her to know, but I don't want the consequences of her knowing. So I watch her from afar -- looking for the footprints she leaves on the universe for me to see -- and marvel at her mind. And when she's near, I nurse that gnawing sensation in my gut and try not to stare at how pretty her smile is, her hair, the way she moves. It's worth the pain -- usually -- to get a chance to see her, and if I'm lucky, a hug. I don't want her to know that it also hurts. It's not her fault.

I'm pretty sure she knows by now, but I don't think she wants to acknowledge that she knows. That would change the rules of the game. That would make the complexity overt. Fortunately she can't hear me whisper from another city, "When you write things like that, I want to kiss you." And she doesn't have to know about the times that I've had to turn off the monitor, saying, "It's too much, too beautiful; you're too magical and I can't stand wanting you this badly; I have to go do something else now."

Alas, when she's hurting and I want to comfort her, I'm not allowed close enough to do so. I'm pretty sure she knows, and is afraid I won't be able to handle being allowed that close. But when she's in pain, I'm ready to set aside how badly I want her, and just try to be what will do her good. The pain of being tantalizingly close but having to only be a friend would not be as bad as the pain of feeling helpless to help her because I'm kept at arm's length. So I'm pretty sure she knows the first part, but I don't think she knows the second. Or maybe just knowing she has the ability to cause me unintended pain makes things too complicated for her? I don't know.

Unfortunately, if I quote the other song going through my head, it'll be the same as just telling her. There'd be no more room for pretending she doesn't know. So I won't.

But in the back of my head a tiny voice asks, "What if I'm wrong? What if she doesn't already know?"

Shut up, little voice. I don't need to torture myself with even more what-ifs. How can she not know?