I can not remember a time when I wasn’t there for him. He is the man that I have always wanted to love. He is strong, so much that he became indestructible. He has walls that I can’t come apart. I can’t even get in. One time, in my solitude, I thought of being his girl. But yet in my solitude, it permits me not. 

What is it with him that I am terrified of him? Why can’t I tell him just how much I adore him? 

He is not a typical guy who would hug you when you are sad. Not the man who would let you touch him when he is mad. He’s not the type of man who adores the simplest things you do. Certainly not the one sorry for his behavior. 

He is romantic in some way. In his own godless way. I cannot tell whether or not he likes me. One day, he’s sweet, the next day, he’s so cold. When he’s near, I can’t look at him. 

When he’s far, I can’t stop thinking about him. He is so much of a man that I have always wanted him to be but he is too selfish at times. Too selfish that he forgets that I, too, have feelings. 

I have forgotten what it’s like to be man-touched. Or be loved. Or be longed for. Or be cared for. He loves mystery so much that he became one (borrowed from Papertowns). I was trying not to care for him, at least for a day, but it’s hard not too. 

How can I not care for him when the word care for me tells me his name?

  

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