What I'd tell you.

I wished that these were on a face-to-face. Instead, it is inside a set of words nobody will read.

I'd tell you that no matter how much you curse the second you laid eyes on me, it would be a hate that cannot be reciprocated. Not ever.

That despite all my longing and pining for you, I am well aware that you do not feel the same way.

That, even when it hurt, I'd much rather be a concrete-world friend, even if that means seeing you happy with another guy. And you know that.

That I can't offer rescue, that would demean us both. I can offer my hand, much mocked elsewhere.

That I never expected rescue on your part.

That, because I am in love with you from the marrow in my bones, I will be a friend when others won't.

That I know the difference between a passing flight of fancy and what I feel.

That the day you decide to turn to me, I'll turn to you, no matter what your circumstances might be. Now, or when we're old. It wouldn't be the first time I've seen something like that happen.

That I saw you as you showed yourself to me.

That I am always FOR you, unstintingly. Always.

That if you think you'll manage for me to close my door by hurting me, you'll be grossly mistaken. You'll just wound me, that's all.

That I'd eat you the second you want. Or did you think I'm not material?

That I'd rather whisper you this at your ear than saying it across a coffee table.

That, and much more.

I haven't got a lot to offer, but I do offer what I am.

That I want it all, and I ask for nothing at all.

That it is you, it always was. Even from before we met.

But, before it all, I'd ask you, "how have you been?"

I'd tell you that your words and questions come first.