what is love? how do i know thats what im feeling?

I think I still love you. I know it can probably never happen, but I just needed to tell something, someone, anyone. That I still love you. I don't want every kiss we perform to be full of the wisp of alcohol and unrequited love. I want kisses to be filled with love and sobriety. But like I said, I know that can never happen. I think I'll always be in love with you. I want to share fags with you. I want to cook for you. I want to clean for you. I would do anything for you. You're sweet and comfortable. I feel safe around you, which is a task not many people can fulfil. I want you to notice the love in my heart and the desire in my eyes, and I want you to see how it could work, but I know it can't, and I know it won't ever happen. ‘Doomed to fail,’ as they say. I feel every action I do towards you can be counted as flirting because I intend to love you. I want to warm your cold hands with mine. I want to take all of your pain and fuse it with mine; if we have to feel pain, we can feel it together. ‘I want to confess it in a whisper that you probably won’t make out. I want you to listen from the kitchen to me confessing on the couch’. I want your ears to hear my love and your body to feel my warmth. I have everything to offer you because I will make anything happen if its for you. I don't know if what I'm feeling is love or admiration, but there is something deep down in my heart that yearns for you, and it won't go away. We can share kisses in shared hoodies and love the touch of one another. But yet, this will never happen. Maybe in another universe, we weren't doomed. We weren't so different yet the same; maybe we are perfect for each other, and we just can't see it. And we may never see it. Every act of romance we've shown towards each other is a joke or full of the sweet, bitter taste of liquor and laughs. I hate who I am when I'm thinking of you. I hate that it can't happen. I hate that this feeling will never leave me. I hate that I love you. Your skin is soft with the texture of fate. But fate can't happen. I'd love to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but I can't. And I know I can't. I think I love you, but feelings are difficult. Everything is difficult. 

I want to admire you from the balcony above and wave goodbye as you head off to uni. I will head off to work with the thought in my head that its going to be a good day because you're okay. You are going to do something fulfilling with your life, whereas I will probably turn into a failure, but I don't mind that; I don't care about that. Because one day, we will be in our late twenties, sharing a house and i will sit there and think, ‘this isnt what failure looks like.’ If anything, I've won; I've won a future. Because happiness is just a room away. 

I'll run through fields in the cold rain, questioning every feeling I feel as I race towards you. I'll lunge into your arms and hold you tightly, and suddenly, everything's not so cold. 

And when I'm 6 feet under, and the worms are feasting on my body, I pray they leave my heart intact so I can continue loving you for all eternity. 

I may never say this to your face, or I'll drunkenly confess it in a bar and you won't know what to make of me, or I'll be breaking down, sobbing, and screaming that I love you and there's nothing we can do to change that. Because. Its fate. Eventually, the world will pull these words out of my mouth because I don't know how much longer I can hold on. 

The winds whisper your name to me; everything I see reminds me of you somehow, be it the silly references you make that I now finally understand or something I think you may like, a stupid post on Pinterest, or something I want to make for you. Everything has been touched by your presence and i pray that never changes.