You'll prop your head up on my doggo plush, facing the ceiling and your phone, and me on my own pillow, glancing over at your screen as we watch your cousin and his girlfriend sing. "I also want a boyfriend who can sing!" I'll chime in jokingly, and you'll playfully chastise me: "你自己也要会唱的好听!"—we'll choke on our laughter and after some silence, you'll lapse into soft singing together with the music in the background for maybe a few seconds or so
If I write you into existence then it means you'll become an official occupant of my life, maybe even my heart. But I don't want to let you in—if I clear out the cobwebs, patch up the broken walls, and finally throw out the last vestiges of a failed promise, then there is room for you... and even more room for you to walk right out of my life. You can up and leave on a whim, and I won't be able to retain you and hold you back and say "no, don't leave".
I'm scared to write—if I write it down, it means it's real. If I write it down, it means I allow for emotional investment. If I write it down, it means I want it too... but what if maybe I don't?If I document it then I cannot pretend that the interactions meant nothing. And then I'd be the loser in this.
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