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Ever since our world collided, I wanted to hold your hand. To know how warm it feels, to make sure you are real. But I am afraid of what might happen next; of how you would react, of how you would make me feel after that gesture. I am afraid of straying from the friendship I have started to open up to. I don’t want to lose it. But then, the more important thing, the most maybe, is that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to go as far as open up your heart to me, when I myself am uncertain of how to nurture such fragile feelings.

I am CONFUSED.

I envy you for being so sure, from that time you stopped me from leaving, to this present where you constantly kept me grounded, rooted to see the world through your perspective. You yourself have opened my heart: to see more, to understand better, to enjoy what is left of this life I have wasted. To embrace myself, the people around me, the friends I have, and then you—who started it all, who helped me set almost everything in place.

And I don’t want to hurt you, starting by holding your hand.

I am such a loser.

(Meet Ren. He is both my imaginary boyfriend—lol, and my doubtful and messed up alter-ego. He has a friend named Kirsten, who is my soft side, the side who will hug a beloved tight when he needs it. Somewhat a bit loco for the hard-to-reach-out-to-Ren—though it doesn’t show much. And Ren, who is much more reserved with regards to anything as serious as the word “friendship”.)

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