"Well, but I'm doubtful of this so-called infatuation. You may not understand."
"Why?" quiet.
"I don't know. Maybe I'm still a child, but a part of me still wonders, still hopes, that you actually love me. And it's as if I'm guilty for now accepting to you that what is, is. As if I shouldn't because I haven't done justice to my past self. What if I love you?"
He looked at me. And I melted. Into a brown abyss.
