It’s possible that I may always be a little bit in love with you. I will continue to be afflicted by this madness because despite full comprehension of the evidence, I cannot seem to learn how to see us in context. Instead of the parallel lives we now lead, my thoughts of you are encased in a conglomerate of perfect points of intersection: that time you played with my hair, puzzles, when you talked me through a mini-crisis. Finally separated, I thought that the catalog was closed, but last night, with complete lack of grace and grasp of gravity, in another one of your plays at simulated love, you pulled me close and swept me off my feet (or attempted to). Mere seconds that nobody took note of, to be burned in my memory in further defiance of utter and glaring hopelessness.

For as long as this has taken its course, we have gone nowhere near the path of couple-hood. You have committed no injustice by dropping misleading hints of interest. I am the hard-headed one that holds on to these isolated moments of no real meaning, because of the accidental chemical reaction mimicking bliss.

But as long as I am gripped by this madness, I will keep the distant sight of you as the measure of my self-control. Reason may not win the war over my feelings and motivations, but so long as I have control over my actions, you will always be across the room, out of reach. Wisdom from lessons I did learn from long ago.