Call it rambling of some sorts

Everyone else knows we're in love, but us. Everyone else knows you're lost in my eyes, but me. Everyone hears how I die to be with you, but you. For a minute I thought we were already together ranging from all the happy hours we spend behind the cameras. We love to act not ready for commitments and not made for each other. We are our only stumbling block as to why we're not together. We know we will never be anything like the Romeo and Juliet storyline, but we just love to act star crossed. Somehow it helps us depict love as pains. That's what the authors want. That's what the playwrights act and that's what the poets rhyme.

We love to pretend to take things slowly and leave our fates in the hands of time, even though we are dying inside of sensations and burning emotions. I am deafened by our unexpressed emotions. I am drenched by the showers of our unhidden affections. I love you and I want you daringly like you will never say you do to me. What is it gonna be? Me or your ego? Time to tell you what I want and quit running around circles. Dear woman of Valour, if we stop making our love a popularity contest and stop acting up to keep the audience entertained at our detriments, then we might have a real life shot at being friends.