ERIC (3). Fireworks. Nothing.

It's 230am; I stumble into the house, clean up, and continue with Eric's entries...





Here's another thing about me that I find paradoxical:

Usually when someone has caught my attention, I will tell him so. I'll be direct and say, "I like you/I'm attracted to you." For the longest time I was under the assumption that I did this in order to allow my emotions room to breathe, give me the satisfaction of having at least let the person know. To achieve some form of satisfaction within myself.
BUT
Perhaps because I've only said "I like you" to one other guy, and all the other times it's been "I'm attracted to you," or perhaps because I've been oblivious to myself all along, or, even better, perhaps because my feelings are not reciprocated, I've discovered that, at least with Eric, the opposite is really the truth.
There is no unburdening of emotion. There is no satisfaction, just the undying push and pull of wanting and fearing hope.

I can't help myself.

He says things that push the wave of affection to its crest: "I could picture myself dating you," "You will see me again..." and I'm forced to devote all my energy into trying to dampen the seemingly inevitable rise of simple, unadulterated wishfulness, the kind that whispers words like "maybe" while instilling sudden, unanticipated urges to feel his hair, or place a light touch on his elbow.