Write her a personal love letter ITT, faggot. How else do you

I don't know enough about love to do that

I would but I don't think alcohol cares how I feel about it.

If I caught anybody loving me I'd kill them with a dirty screwdriver.

It's all they'd deserve.

,

I don't know what love is, or what it feels like. You know my story. You know that I've always found it hard to love, to feel affection. I finally have a chance to feel what I've always wanted to feel. To know what I always wanted to know. I noticed the signs. They were here, between us, all along.
You attracted me from the moment I met you. Your hair, your eyes, your face, your graceful movements, your elegance. Even your nose which you hate so much. From that moment, I felt close to you, even when we were so distant. As we got to know each other -slowly but surely- I learned that we are alike in our tastes, interests, and values. I thought I was alone, that there was nothing who could read me and understand me. Then I found you. It's as if I found a missing piece, a friend I have never met, and with you a feeling I have never experienced before. I know you felt alone, too. It's in our blood, to be proud, to be so defiant that we refuse to care about anyone but ourselves until we are sure others reciprocate. I know you hurt yourself with that pride of yours -that pride of mine. We are rugged, and beautifully broken. I don't want to fix you, and I don't want you to fix me. I want to be broken with you. Shattered, even, stomped to dust, but holding your hand.
I won't say sorry for the insults, the cold-shoulders, the distance I created, because you did the same, . Everyone knows about our petty games, our childish fights, and how insulted we felt at times. It's not a secret, even if we pretended it was. I know you talked about me, mentioned me every day, even when we distanced ourselves from each other as if we were immature teenagers. I talked too. I couldn't get my mind off of you. We do have a secret though. Only we, the two of us know what these games truly mean. I hurt your pride and you hurt mine, and the next day we are sitting in front of each other, looking into each other's eyes, talking without words. Only the two us know the reason; the tension between us, the desire to have what is forbidden, to do what we aren't allowed to do.
When we were at the theatre I thought it through. I wasn't drunk as you said I was. That's not why I don't remember anything from the play. I was watching you all night long. I was peeking, taking in the sight in short bursts as if grasping for air. I couldn't keep my eyes on the actors, I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. I was in turmoil, I know I had to make a decision. I did, , I have decided. I don't care what's allowed and what's not. I don't care what it costs, I don't care about the consequences. You are worth more than what I am risking. You are worth way more than that. More than I could say, I am at a loss of words.

, we read each other, as if we were books ourselves. When I look into your eyes, I see beautiful letters, thin and slanting, spelling out a word I could not understand before we met. Am I reading you right, ?

Motherfucking formatting. Why do I even bother?

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>>9147073
That sounds painful.