when i told you i liked you, what i really meant to tell you was thank you for being good-mannered and kind to me. for during these days, when friendships have been ruptured and familial comfort has not been that comforting, it is in our friendship where i am perennially rescued from my miseries.
when i told you i liked you, what i really intended to say was i was lonely. yes, i am lonely because i have no one to call my own, and in the absence of someone who can make me feel special, i am drawn to whatever resembles it -- the smiles, the comfort, the warmth. but lest you end up thinking that i am desolate and desperate, please do not, because i know you have also felt and tasted the bitter pangs of being momentarily sad and lonely.
when i told you i liked you, what i really meant to say was although that night was tinged with sadness, i was even lonelier than its pitch black darkness. you of all people know that sadness has an uncanny way of altering the natural order of things, and in the onslaught of solitude, we often say things that we do not really mean.
when i told you i liked you, what i really wanted to tell you was i was a little intoxicated that night, and when the facade crumbled and red horse had loosened my lips from restraint, you suddenly appeared different before me -- and for the first time since we became friends, i found myself smiling just looking at you. but as with all things involving beer and altered phases, it was a moment of epiphany that would not sustain, and when alcohol was spirited away from my system, you were back to being my friend once again.
you see, when i told you i liked you, what i really meant to say was that sometimes, it's not really all about you -- because sometimes, it can also be about me. so you don't have to act all awkward and repelling, because trust me, i am also repulsed by desperation. it was just the conflation of circumstances that night, and with the infusion of beer and my penchant for saying stupid things, i was bound to say something that i would later on regret.
the least that you could have done was ask me why i told you i liked you that night -- and that would have spared me from the trouble of writing down my sadness for you.