not even you.

When I return to the room, my eyes look for you before anyone else – they like to see you, my eyes, and know where you are. I find you standing near a table, speaking with two or three other people. I feel too shy and awkward to join you and interrupt your conversation, so I discreetly walk to the opposite side of the room. I shall behave as if I had no feelings, as if I was not itching all over to be nearer to you, to tell you how amazing you are and how much you inspire me. I shall pretend there is nothing extraordinary about you, and that you are to me what everyone else in this room is to me: merely someone I happen to barely know. I shall pretend all this with success, for I have had to act in this dishonest way for so long and so often. No one shall know of my feelings – not even you.