Do you feel that I like you? I feel it yet I don’t know it. You are so hard to read. The most complex book I’ve ever been with. Your pages are written in Sanskrit. The cover of your eyes hold too many messages. Metaphors with extensive interpretations. I read every gesture. I feel every texture. Smell every sheet of your skin. Highlight every hint of connection. I attempt to comprehend our antagonistic narratives. Why I’m so drawn to your affection. Why I’m so intrigued by your intellect. Testing everything I think. Editing thought processes until I say what I intend to state. Until you smile and make my heart melt. To be fully honest, I don’t believe I’ll ever talk your language. Enjoy the same bookstores. Match your literary tastes. Dream about the same fictional tales. However, I’m willing to learn simultaneously. Sit across from you at the library. Remain silent to savor the gap between your words and my words.
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