Soon as I think 'That's it. I give up!' I hear from him. He writes me about something small, something he remembered to ask about. I keep wanting to shake him off, but I can't seem to do it.
In a perfect world, he would have, all this time, been telling me that he almost asked so and so out, but wasn't interested enough, because he was hinting that he's interested in me. He did not let go of my hand after helping me across ice late one night, until I let go, because he wanted to keep holding it. He held my gaze as I walked to the elevator before my trip last year because he was trying to tell me that he couldn't bear the thought of me being with him. He didn't want to lose touch because he cherishes the same secret hope that I do.
But the world's not perfect. All I know is that I'm on a nauseating roller coaster ride. But once in a while, I take a deep breath and I feel fine, so I open my eyes and see the vast, beautiful world of unknowns stretching into the bright horizon. My head is thrown back against the force to which I've submitted myself and I'm exhilarated by the loss of control and the brief, repeated flashes of where I could find myself.
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