For a long time, I don’t think I even knew what it meant to love someone.
I mean, I understood what it was like to care about a friend.
I knew what it meant to love a child even if they weren’t mine.
I am even fortunate enough to be loved by my parents.
But when it came to “that” kind of love, I really had no idea.
When someone is hurt, I naturally want to help.
If someone doesn’t want me to leave, my heart bleeds.
When someone tells me that they love me, it makes me happy.
But did I ever love them in return?
Or was it only out of desperate loneliness that I clung to the first one?
Pity for the second one?
Did I seek an escape through the third one?
Did I feel nothing when the fourth one declared his “love”?
Eventually, I felt nothing.
Nothing except the desire to disappear.
Until the fifth one appeared.
I didn’t think anything of him.
I was just waiting for him to leave.
Until then, I would smile and be his friend.
But he didn’t leave.
A part of me was irritated.
“If you’re going to leave, then leave!”
“Stop wasting your time and go!”
I wanted to say that to you.
But the words were caught in my throat.
Maybe I was just lonely again.
But I can’t do that to you.
You, who has a heart that is so sincere.
Even when your affections were apparent, I tried to turn a blind eye.
I wanted to hate the feelings that were sprouting in me.
Maybe I wanted to hate you.
But that was impossible.
“Please…go before I cling to you.”
I don’t want you to get hurt because of my selfishness.