This is a point where I've understood that everything doesn't necessarily work out the way I want it to. Acceptance. Acceptance of something I'm not even entirely sure of. There's this voice in my head that keeps telling me I'm being silly, getting all worked up when I don't even know the truth. I'm too afraid to ask, strangely enough. I wonder why. I've never been afraid of asking you anything before.

Back to acceptance. No tears, no tantrums, no rants. But if I ever learn that this is true, I'm afraid I'll hate you for not telling me in the first place. Because I thought telling me was obligatory and came with being friends.

This does not mean I don't feel for you, however.

*sigh*