Eight letters. Three words. The literal manifestation of connection in a sentence.
I love you.
Yet even typing those words makes me want to puke. Because it's so wrong to just write like that.
I used to say it. All the time. To all my friends. To all those I met. Platonic, romantic, or not, I'd profess my love for them all. I didn't mean it inside. It was just a word. Meaningless like the rest of the language I stumble through saying.
But it wasn't till I sat and thought about the power of that word. Wars waged over that word. People died for that word. Some heard it every day and others never even graced by it's presence.
I had started to dilute the meaning of love. Because as much as I try not to be a hopeless romantic, I can't stop myself. I dream of you. Man or a woman, I do not know how you have formed. But you are here. In this world and on this earth. And if I am ever blessed with the fortune of meeting you, I will utter those three magical words again.
But till then, I keep them trapped inside. Unspoken for anyone, even me.