You have probably been wondering for ages whether, and if so: what, I think about you, whether I think about you at all in the first place, that is to say, and what, precisely, in the second. For such a long time you have been there, sometimes in the foreground, sometimes in the background, without my ever letting you in on anything as to the matter. We have read each other’s words, heard each other’s voices, and seen each other’s faces, so close, it would seem, while never even close to being close. There is so much I should like, nay, love to tell you, yet I refrain from doing so – on purpose; not on any malign purpose, mind you, but on purpose nonetheless. I have been at this point with other people before, too many, in fact, to carelessly walk into the same trap again; or perhaps ‘trap’ is not the right word, let us rather say: I am simply minding my steps this time in order to avoid another blunder. You make me feel good, you give me a warm, pleasant glow inside, I readily admit it – and that makes me suspicious. You see, others have done so as well, long before I had even become aware of your mere existence. Metaphorically speaking, I am standing on the doorstep, but I shall refrain from crossing this line until I know what it is that you want. I have no desire to wake up bleeding once more, the knife of betrayal and broken promises given carelessly and whimsically sticking out of a lethal wound in which it has been twisted several times.
And here we have arrived at the crux: We have so much in common, and yet we remain different. I understand your sentiments, your thoughts, your desires, your questions. I do not want to treat you like this, I do not wish to put you on hold or keep you in suspense. It is, to put it differently, not in my nature to do so, and yet I have to, for up to this point, my natural kindness, tenderness, and benevolence have made everyone about whom I have felt the same way as I feel about you now lose interest in and exploit me. To state it again: I have been there before, more than once, and I have no desire to go there again any time soon.
I shall, therefore, treat my true, deep affection to you (for that it is by all means) as an illness, and I shall remain ready to purge it with hellfire if necessary. I cannot and I will not slide into the abyss again.
To answer the initial question, then, yes, I do think about you; not ceaselessly, not without interruptions, not all the time; but I do, I truly do, each day a bit, now and then – and I wish you were here with me. Yet this last point shall remain to be resolved in the near future, and that means: if at all.