When You Say You Love Me

And here is Angst's version:


You. There was a time I hated you. When I tried my best to avoid you. But you, you invaded my life with your Lily green eyes and your stupid Gryffindor selflessness. You threw not only my entire life, everything I thought and did, into turmoil, you threw me into turmoil as well. Three little words from you was all it took and suddenly I no longer know who I am.

I look at you, sitting across the room from me, pretending to read your book. Yes, I know you're only pretending, although I will admit, you put on a good show. You think I don't know, because you try to keep it secret, but I do know. I know more than you let on. I know, for instance, that you're hurt. You've told me you love me a bit ago, and I didn't answer.

Oh, I could say that you knew what you were getting into. That you knew the sort of man I am. That you should know better by now than to think I am the type to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. Not, of course, that our love is a sweet nothing. On the contrary, it is a very sweet something. Something huge and so very new to me that I find it hard to believe no matter how many times you say the words. I could tell you that you knew hurt was part of the bargain, no matter how unintentional it is on my part. I did, after all, warn you when we started this thing between us. You said then that your love for me would conquer all, had conquered all. You should, therefore, not be hurt now.

The fact remains, however, that you are. And I am the cause of it. I know you will sit there lost in your thoughts for a while. I know that should I ask what is the matter, you will smile that sad smile at me before bucking up and telling me its nothing.

But.....it is something. To you, and to me as well, whether you think so or not. I never want to be the cause of any hurt to you. I have hurt you enough in the past. Again, unintentionally, but perhaps with a little more relish, and for that I am heartily sorry. I am not, however, the sort of man who is given to begging for forgiveness anymore than I am the sort to wear my heart on my sleeve.

I am, however, a man who feels things very deeply, and for you in particular, and it is for this reason that I find myself standing to approach you, taking your beautiful face in my hands to look into the eyes that will be the very happy death of me and saying....

"When you say you love me, do you know how I love you?"

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