To start off with something I'm willing to bet no one's ever heard before in their lives, there's this girl.
Definitely, we've all hit this one before, though the severity of the ailment varies.
If it were a girl I saw every once in a while in the halls of my school, for example, it would be somewhat easier. Instead of awkwardly trying to initiate conversations after the classes I have with her, more on that in a bit, I could simply use my considerable charm.
I've had the opposite problem: too much one-on-one time initiated by, well, me. It's better to see someone act in a group; I have a much better sense of humor in groups (in classrooms especially) than one-on-one, at least initially. It's hard for me to lose my reservedness in such a situation.
How can the presence of a particularly indescribable, remarkable human being flip my personality so? It's not as though there aren't several young ladies of my acquaintance who are almost as lovely and almost as radiant, almost as...
Well, it's a matter of personal perception. Yes, beauty has *some* to do with symmetry and proportions and other jazz, but there's also one's own outlook, which is usually enhanced by personality factors (if you like someone's personality they'll start to look better physically as well). Here's a nice paragraph to describe such a feeling (I've had it too, for about nine months. It's still there, but it's receding, which is a good and bad thing):
"To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell." ~Gabriel García Márquez
I won't comment any further on GGM, since I'm unfamiliar with his writing as a whole. However, the last line, "for fear of destroying the spell" inspired the line in my poem, "Village Children", "she cannot blink, in fear/of consuming her grand and dear escape". The description as a whole is one of my favorite prose excerpts. Now, moving on:
If I do inform her, and she reciprocates, I couldn't be happier, but...
But what if she doesn't feel the same?
Tough call. Personally, I told her pretty fast and everything fell to naught. Of course, I tend to be straightforward with how I feel about people (which isn't too hard, since I get along with most). Bad idea, perhaps, but it also dispels some discomfort and wipes any notions of secrecy.
I'm certain, either way, she'll be cool about it, but if she doesn't want a relationship with me, I, and this is very hard for me to say, I don't know what to do.
It seems as though the noble thing would be to respect her wishes, simply back off. I wouldn't get exactly what I want, but if it makes her happy, I'd be all for it.
Been there. It would be unjust to comment on this any further.
Then again, if she doesn't care about me as deeply as much as I do her, do I have the right to change her mind? Do I have the right to convince her just how amazing I am?
You have the right; the question is, is such a wish an (im)possibility?
Jeff, I hope this helped in some way. Everyone else, perhaps you could relate (if you couldn't, you're [mis]fortunate). Take care 'til next time,