The amount of time dedicated to thinking of you is unhealthy, but it's inevitable. You make me feel so alive and special, wanting to be myself for the first time in months. The smallest signs of affections are amplified thousands of times inside my heart and though my eyes, as if observing them through a microscope. Analytic is the word that comes to mind. I give it too much thought, rereading messages and interpreting them, as if they were messages in an ancient crypt. But just like a crypt in an abandoned temple, my love for you is complex and confusing. As if those messages had a hidden meaning and sadly... I don't think they do. But just like the researcher who is about to give up, a new spark of hope has emerged. Hope that maybe a single message didn't mean anything to you and the interest and care I have for you will be shared. Only time will tell, and time never stops, only our fragile and impermanent hearts do.
