You know why, right?
Why am I in love with you? Because you’re intelligent. You are smart and witty and in the chaos that I portray you seem to understand me. Reflecting on myself, I think I create that conversational chaos to keep people at a distance. A friendly way to keep to myself. But for those that easily see through my silliness (which to be honest is not that difficult), I end up admiring. The communication deepens and i feel at ease and relaxed and myself. I make friends this way. But then I felt seen—deeper than I thought. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I wanted it to be true. Regardless, I fell in love. The more I got to know you, the more your intelligence shone. I fell deeply for your brain, for your words, for your thoughts. I wish I could tell you this, but life is weird and messy and this kind of admiration is left for those consumption riddled 18th century writers. And I don’t want to be weird.