I don't know if you realise the full effect you have on me. And it's not even recently. It's been since the very first day I met you. We spent an hour together, maybe two, and although we barely even said a sentence to each other, already I realised that I wanted to know you.
And I didn't have much time before you went away again, but I tried to make the most of it. Within days we were talking as though we'd been friends for years. It felt like I had known you for years. Everyone said we looked great together. Even our families.
Then you left, and everyone came to me to find out if you were OK over there. Our emails told me that you were, and I couldn't wait for you to come back.
But when you did, something had changed. And it wasn't me, it was you. Something happened to you in Iraq, and I remember the day you decided you trusted me enough to tell me how scared you were of how this was changing you. I remember you telling me how the last thing you ever wanted was for people to get hurt, including me.
I didn't know what to tell you. I wanted to be there for you, and even today, I want to be there. You left again, for your second tour. Your sisters told me, and your friends told me how much they were worrying about you. And I had to agree with them.
A year went by, and still I couldn't tell you how you make me feel. Still, we were almost at that place, but you just couldn't open yourself up enough to trust me when I said I was stong enough to cope with whatever it was you couldn't keep inside. Everybody told me to tell you, but I knew you didn't know what you wanted. And I didn't particularly want to face the idea that everything between us was simply in my head.
Then the phone call came. Just gone midnight, you called me, and went completely insane. I know you say you don't remember, but a part of me thinks you do. And I had to sit there while you had a fight with a random stranger, and I felt helpless when you threatened to knife the next person that walked past you, and I begged you to go home when you promised that you were going to kill yourself.
But then you cut off, and I nearly went insane myself. When I tried to call you back, only to not have you answer, I didn't know what to do. It wasn't until the next morning that your sister rang me and told me you were in the hospital, having fallen down some stairs and dislocated your knee. I didn't see you again for that leave. And we stopped sending each other emails.
The next time you came back completely changed my attitude toward you. We were so drunk that night, I barely remember it. I do remember falling asleep in your arms though, and partial bits of that long coversation we had.
After two years, I still don't know what I want from you. If I want anything from you at all. And I know you don't know either. Every time I see you, or hear your name, a stone drops through my stomach and the butterflies are let loose, its true. And I think really hate that feeling, but then I see you, and my perspective changes again. I've never been so indecisive in my entire life, never come across a situation with so many different shades of grey. I hate the hold you have over me, and the way you look at me, and yet a part of me loves it. You're almost a year too late, and yet, sometimes I'm tempted to wait anyway.
You were right. I can't cope with your issues as well as my own. And it might sound selfish, but I'm trying to save myself. We'd end up destroying each other. And I don't want to be responsible that. At least, I don't think I do.