ends of the spectrum see-saw: the non-balance may send one of you flying into the ground

i don't know if i'm trying to make this out to be more than it is because i want it to, or if it's a little real this time.

glad i stopped some words from ever trekking their way off of someone's blackberry screen and into the cavities of most people's ears, where they'd bounce off the tiny bones and spiral sideways to the brain. 

"great minds discuss ideas. 

average minds discuss events.

shallow minds discuss people."

although it was stopped, however, and politely so, i can't help feeling that was some strange motive behind the question posed (to which of course the answer was "no"). i don't want that motive. it's beginning to lift the sheet off of it's head from when it was pretending to be a ghost. i don't want it. i don't want you. i'd thought i'd made it clear from the subtle hints i've dropped in the time i've known you. this will be nothing more than a "professional" type of relationship, you will be nothing more than a colleague of sorts, and all conversations will be taken as, by myself, water-cooler talk. i am sorry if my giddy mood tonight (despite the fact that i was late and forgot my script) encouraged any sort of sentiments; i would advise you now to think of me as nothing but a case, well. ok, r? 

.................

as for you, i shouldn't like you at all. definitely not in any league i've tried out for. always the wrong person, and this time, weirdly wrong. not that anything will come of it, but it was just so you know that i've been thinking about you. a little more than most people, but not obsessively, thank goodness. the only thing i'm obsessive about is myself--how i look, act, laugh, blink, (goddamn, even) breathe around you. by most accounts i should not even think of you in that way, but i do. i can't help it. even after my friend's advice, i've let my caution slide down to the bottom of the tank. it'll sit there, accumulating algae. every single time i see you, i get that funny feeling--like there's supposed to be butterflies in my stomach, but they flew up through my ribcage and settled on my now fluttering heart. (oh, how infatuation stimulates vocabulary.) please forgive a schoolgirl's crush overtaking a young woman's intuition.

don't go guessing, r. i'd rather you not meddle in any of my personal affairs.

-d