I think there may be a chance. I want to be prepared for the worst but I can't bring myself to think about it anymore - if I have no hope, I won't be able to even make it through a conversation without wanting to sink into myself and not come back out again.

In my mind, we are telling each other how we feel, and it isn't easy but we shovel through because we both feel like it's worth it. And then you curl up next to me and call me one of your pet names, I take you in my arms, and we tightly embrace. It would be like how it was after we fought that one time in your old room - one of us leans into the other and we don't kiss but softly rub our faces against each other, feel skin lightly touching skin while our hands move to rub each other's backs, arms, legs, whatever. It's not sexual but sensual, and it's amazing. Better than any fuck session.

God, I love you. I really fucking love you. And let me be the first to say how much I avoid that word. I take words so seriously - I never want to say something that I don't mean. I've tried to say it to others before - hell, I tried to say it to you before - and it felt weird and uncomfortable and scary. There's one memory that I can't get out of my head (correction: don't want to get out of my head), though, that leaves me doubtless of my emotions: the day you got sick in my room.

It was your birthday, and at 4 am you had eaten another one of those goddamn 7-11 Jamaican turn-overs that I was always giving you a hard time about eating. Four hours later I woke up to the sound of you puking in my sink. I laid there while you finished, still groggy from the sleeping pill I had taken to help me finally get some rest, and when you sat down in the chair shivering I waited to see what it was that I could do for you. You curled back into bed and I began to clean up the mess. And let me tell you, not for one minute was I disgusted. A few minutes later you went to the bathroom, where you were for an hour, and I went around the hall at 10:30 am on a Saturday morning looking for someone with a spare bathroom key that I could borrow in order to be able to check up on you. I brought you a glass of water and sat on the floor of the disgusting bathroom outside your stall so that I could hold your hand. And when you came back into my room, still shivering, I was just glad that I could be there to hold you when you curled up into me. That is how I know that I love you.

Today I told you that I needed to talk to you, and we decided on tomorrow after our Chinese test. We'll see how this goes... Please just tell me that this isn't unrequited. That would kill me.