©Sweet Kisses™

~*~

Date: February, 2001
Time: Noon
Place: My hotel room (again)
Mood: Sullen
Weather: Sunny (how's that for irony?)


And it just gets worse.

I'm trying to work out my feelings, and I'm trying to get my head together and I'm trying not to think about going up to him and just confessing everything. I'm trying so hard, diary, but it just doesn't seem to be working. Every time I see him and every time I look at him and every time I try to talk to him, I get choked up and I try not to cry. Pathetic of a man of such stature as my good self. But everyone has a vulnerable side, right diary?

I guess he's just my vulnerability.

Once again, I'd like to mention that I need help. Maybe I should go see a therapist or a psychologist or someone who can screw with my head more than he has. I mean, damn! The guy's tormenting me and screwing with me (not in the literal sense - one could only hope!) twenty-four seven and he doesn't even know it. Not really ironic.

And the thing is, I've never felt like this before in my whole, entire life. I've never been in love like this before. Ever. And I'm not sure if it's infatuation or lust or just plain awe, but what I do know is that I can never seem to take my eyes off him.

Why did he have to be so damn sexy?

How is it that he can just look at me and I get weak in the stomach? How is it that I keep dreaming about him telling me that he's loved me forever, just like I've loved him? How is it that I keep believing that some day he'll be mine? How is it that I keep believing that he knows how I feel, and that he feels the exact same way? How is it that I keep torturing myself by loving him? HOW? WHY?

I wish I knew.

I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. I really don't know why. If I did, I'd try to stop. I'm sure I wouldn't be successful, but at least I'd try. That means something, doesn't it diary? I'm trying and trying and trying not to love him as much as I do, and I'm trying to get my mind off him by focusing on a million and one girls...but it just won't work.

Someone's extremely pathetic today.


Date: February, 2001
Time: One A.M.
Place: My hotel room (surprised, huh?)
Mood: Depressed
Weather: Starry?


So, it's official. I really think that I'm fucking sick in the head!

Diary, let me explain.

We were all in the dressing room tonight, getting changed and all the rest of it. He was standing right next to me (sigh!) and I could smell his scent and I became, like, intoxicated by him just standing next to me. Then, it got worse. Much, much worse. He took off his shirt. The guy's a walking sex object. His body is just so, I can't even explain it. I had to turn away and take a few deep breaths (more like a million). But hey, at least I know I'm sick and twisted! Do you agree, diary? I'm sure you do.

Good thing he didn't take off his pants or else I would've screamed torture and made a run for it. Drama queen, you think? Probably.

I need to tell somebody. I mean, telling you is like repeating it to myself. I need someone who can talk back to me and tell me that what I'm going through is just my young hormones going crazy. Either that or my sick and twisted mind working overtime. What do I need? I need him, and I need him now. Not just for the obvious reasons, I just want his love. That's all I want. All I've ever wanted.

But sometimes you don't always get what you want.

Funny that, isn't it? No matter how much you long for something or someone, sometimes it can never be yours. I wonder why that has to happen. I wonder why I put myself through all this. I wonder why I don't just pack it all up and bury my head in the sand. At least that way I wouldn't have to see him. I wouldn't have to see anyone, least of all him or myself.

Besides, even if he was what I thought I might be (which he's not - I know for sure), he'd never go for me. I'm ugly. He's gorgeous. He's perfect. I'm full of imperfections. He's stunning. I'm not so stunning. He's a styler. I seem to be creating fashion hazards left, right and centre.

So my question is this: would he even go for me if he knew what I felt and he was the type of person to respond?

Just like everything else, diary, I don't know.


Date: February, 2001
Time: 2 P.M.
Place: Poolside!
Mood: Better
Weather: Bright


I'm going to tell him.

I'm going to tell him what I feel. I'm going to tell him everything. Do you think I'm making the right decision? Yes? No? Well, screw indecisiveness. I have to bite the bullet and tell him when the opportunity arises. Because, let's face it, I'm not getting any better just dreaming about telling him rather than doing it in reality. And, of course, it must be said that it's making me more than a little crazy.

I'm scared. I really am scared. I'm scared that he'll laugh. I'm scared that he won't take me seriously. I'm scared that he'll scream, run away and never talk to me again. I'm scared that he'll tell everyone. I'm scared that he'll avoid me. And most of all, I'm scared that he won't love me back. I'm just so scared, and I don't know what to do.

He came up to me today and stared talking about stuff (just generally), and you'll never guess what I did. I said, "can't talk, gotta go." How stupid! God, could I get anymore pathetic in my lifetime?

PA-THET-IC!

I have no idea when I'm going to tell him, I just am. And it has to be soon. I'm going out of my mind here, and I'm driving myself crazy. I need to just have a quiet moment alone with him (and wouldn't that be nice?!) with no interruptions so I can just tell him what I'm feeling and hopefully he won't scream and run away. Take a deep breath and tell him. Tell him.

TELL HIM!

Basically I'm just a silly little boy who has no idea what he's doing or why. Hang on, maybe I do know why.

Because I love him.


Date: February, 2001
Time: 3 A.M
Place: My bed (how cosy!)
Mood: Nervous/Scared/Happy
Weather: Dark (I guess)


I did it. I finally did it. I told him how I felt. I told him everything. I told him how I've loved him forever and that all I want and all I've ever wanted is to be loved by him. He raised his eyebrows and backed away suspiciously, but I tried my best to make him see my side of it. He took a deep breath and sat down so he could listen to what I had to say. And may I add that what I had to say was quite extreme and probably very scary for him (you think?).

Diary, it went something like this (dialogue and all for realism):

I walked into the dressing room with my heart racing, trying to control myself and thanking my lucky stars that no one else was in there (my plan could've been killed!). As I shut the door, he turned around with a smile. "Hey," he said. He saw that I didn't really smile back and put a hand on my shoulder. I quivered (of course). "What's the matter?"

I asked him to sit down, which he did, and took a deep breath before saying, "I love you."

He laughed. "Yeah, I love you, too."

He didn't get it. "No. I mean, I love you."

His beautiful eyes widened and I could see that a warning bell went off in his head. He stood up quickly and walked to the door. I stopped him when he tried to open the door and walk out. I told him that I couldn't control what I felt and that I didn't mean to fall in love with him, it just happened. His eyes widened even further. I continued to tell him that I didn't want to scare him or ruin our friendship in any way, I just had to tell him. I told him it was making me crazy, making me act insane. Like right now, for instance.

"Nick," he whispered, the colour completely drained from his face, "I'm married."

You think I don't know that? Big round of applause for fucking Einstein here! Him being married was like the bane of my existence. I just wanted him to understand how I felt. He didn't have to love me back (though I would love it if he did), he just had to understand.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I shouldn't have told you. It was a mistake. Forget I said anything."

Obviously defeated (damn, did I make a mistake!), I opened the door to rush out before the tears ran down my face. But he grabbed my arm. He grabbed my arm and pulled me tight against his chest (what the hell was he trying to do?).

He stared wonderingly into my eyes.

"I know you didn't mean for it to happen," he said and wiped my tears away.

We both stared at each other for the longest moment. And you know what happened next, diary? I kissed him. That's right. I kissed him. I leaned forward slowly and gently brushed my lips against his. He wrapped his arms around me, and I knew from then on that he understood.

Oh, confession time (again). His name?

Mr Kevin Scott Richardson.

A.K.A: the love of my life.

~**~