You should see the things I don’t post.

The things I’ve written in this five-minute timer all to watch it disappear within a matter of seconds.

The words I’ve put down on paper and hidden in my notebooks. Hoping to forget them and find them later on in my life. Just so I can look back and say, “damn, I really fucked that one up.”

You should see the letters I’ve written to you with the words I wish I used. The conversation I wish would’ve happened. The fight I wish I would’ve started.

But no, you couldn’t possibly handle seeing the words I jotted down to try and express what was going on in my head.

Maybe it’d be too complicated for you to understand.

No, I don’t think you can imagine all the things I’ve written. Maybe they weren’t for you directly, but they were about you.

I don’t think you’d ever want to read it all.

I don’t believe all the things I’ve written for you.

It’s like middle school me all over again, doodling initials to see what would fit best. Believe it or not, your initials and mine would’ve passed the vibe check.

Maybe one day, I’ll have the courage to let you in on this.