I wanted to love you. I really did.
I made every effort to try to feel something…anything.
I’ve stared at your face the way people who are in love do when they’re in that state of amazement. Amazed that such a simple face could make them question every other face before it. Were they really as beautiful as this face they’re now looking at? I looked into your eyes, half hoping to at least catch a glimpse of the top layer of your soul. But all I saw were dingy eyes staring back at me…hopeful.
I used to think I didn’t love you because I didn’t know you as well as I probably could have. So I made it a point to ask you about your childhood. Were you ever bullied? Ever had a tree house? How’d you get that scar? I sat through countless stories about birthday parties and bad haircuts but none of them captivated me enough to want you forever.
As we sat on the grass that one Saturday afternoon you like to refer to as “the day you knew you loved me”, I listened intently as you described your feelings for me. I thought maybe if I closed my eyes, I’d be able to capture the invisible feelings bouncing in the air like fireflies in the night. I must have looked silly but I really was trying.
For a while I felt bad because I really did like you. I just didn’t love you. And no matter what I did…
I just couldn’t love you.