𝐎𝐔𝐈, 𝐂'𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐈 | timothée chalamet imagines

𝙖 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

LOVE
1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.
3. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.

I wish I knew what we are, what we were, what we will become. Best friends? Friends with benefits? Both? I'm sitting on my roof right now, looking straight at the sunset, my cat's by my side, purring. He's happy. Am I happy? Or is it all an illusion?

I don't think I know what's real and what's not anymore. But I think it's normal, right? I'm becoming an adult, I'm confused and I think that's how it's supposed to be like, uncertain.

I don't think I love you. I don't think I ever will. Not at least, until I learn how to love myself. I'm working on it tho. Promise I am. Self-love. I like the sound of it, I like the main idea of it. It sounds lovely, interesting, happy. But regardless, back to you.

You. Oh. Who are you what have you done to me? Do you have any idea of how you make me feel? You surely do not, because if you did, you would stop, for your kindness and purity are the things I love the most about you. We're like Jo and Laurie, yes the Laurie you so well played in little women. I'm you're golden girl, you're my golden boy. You know what happened right? You know they didn't end up together? My friends say you look at me in a magical way, like I'm an item for your so desired collection. They say you look at me like I've enchanted you. Do I make you feel things? Do I make you feel butterflies? I hope I do. You see, this is the problem. I like to be loved, however, I don't like to love. Weird, right? Yes, I know. Is it commitment issues? Maybe. Most likely to be honest. Hate to admit it. Who or what assures me that you won't leave me? You probably will. Or maybe I will. Because I'll feel like I'd screw it up. Plus I don't wanna ruin our friendship, Timmy. It's too perfect. Too pure. Too unique, to be ruined by a 'crush'. A 'crush' that no matter what always comes back, at this precise time of the year for 4 years now. However last year felt like I was more 'in love'. In love no. More 'interested'.

Oh gosh, you're not even my type! But that's the thing. We don't choose faces, features. We choose hearts, personalities. And I hate it. I say my biggest flex is not wanting anyone. Sounds cool, right? Aesthetic? Powerful. But it might not be completely true. I don't wanna die alone with my 7 cats at my flat. But also, I don't wanna date. Not right now, at least. I don't wanna date because I'm not ready to love anyone. Not ready to take care of no one. Not ready to be given such a responsibility. Not yet. No. Perhaps, not ever. And I don't wanna break your heart again. Let's say we would date. And we would break up. I know things wouldn't be the same anymore. I know we wouldn't talk to each other anymore. I know things would be shitty. I know it. I just know it. Wish I could delete my feelings for you. Like deleting a fold from a computer. But I can't.

When I painted your nails the other day, oh lord. Why did you look so hot? And with my rings? They looked better on you that in me. But I only felt like I might have a crush on you when you looked like what I wanted you to look. When you looked like what I planned you'd look like. That's the thing about real life. That's the thing about emotions. About love. I can't plan it. I'm not writing a story. I'm not planning that character's future or feelings.

I've always told you not to ever change for someone. I made you promise me that. Yet, I'm interested in the version I made you be. With the version I wanted you to be. So it can't be love. It can't even be a crush. I planned it. I did it in my head. In my mind. Why did I never felt like this, this year, when you looked like your true self? Maybe you didn't feel like yourself and that's the why you took the rings off and the nail polish. Or perhaps it was because you were afraid of what other people might say of you. Might assume of you. And you care about it. Why? Why do you care about it? We're gonna die and after a while, nobody's gonna remember us.

You kinda looked happy when I painted your nails. I think. My friends say that as well. Friends. My friends. They also play an important paper on this story. They say I love you and, I feel pressured by them, to love you, I think.

I like to imagine us older. You visiting me, me painting your nails and doing your makeup and you liking it. Because you find it funny. Because you feel pretty. And that's not being gay. That's being happy, we all have different ways of feeling happiness.

I guess your smile is intoxicating. I guess it's a drug, and I'm afraid I might be getting addicted.

Do I see us marrying? No. Absolutely not. I feel like life would be so boring if we did so.

Maybe my standards are way too high, even unrealistic, maybe. Or maybe you're the highest. Maybe you're too much for me. Too good for me. And maybe I don't deserve you.

Although I love Jo and Laurie, I'm afraid we might actually be them. He loved her for so long. And she didn't. She was way too much of a free spirit. And he, he wanted to build a family. To settle down and grow old. And when she started to feel lonely, she looked for him, but he had already found himself with his other half. It was too late. Too late for her to try to be with him. But I know they wouldn't be happy. They knew it too. I'm like Jo, I care more to be loved. I wanna be loved. And that's not the same thing as loving. And I know it. And it hurts. It hurts like hell.

So right now, I won't think about it. I think we should enjoy what we are. Feel more, think less. We should just go with the flow and see where it take us.

With love,
Y/N

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may or may not have a part 2,

rits :)