Things left unsaid

Remember that time you asked me why I liked you?
I never gave you an answer now didn't I?
Perhaps I would never answer that question in person... in a cafe, with a cup of coffee stained by my lips on the brim.

Why didn't I answer? 
All the more, why couldn't I?
I guess the emotions still float on the surface, and reminding myself what it was that drew me to you would sink it deeper.
(Something you have shrewdly presumed to be the case, which I hastily, too hastily, and tactlessly denied.)

Why did I like you?

Was it because of the way you started a sentence or how you ended it? 
Was it because of the way your eyes twinkle and how they become warm or the way they turn blank and hazy?
Was it because of your inquisitive or nosy prodding?
Was it because of your sincerity or your sarcasm?
Was it because of your humor or unabashed bluntness?
Was it because of your wisdom or idiocy?
Was it because of your affection or insensitive teasing and mocking?
Was it because of your passion or your apparent lack thereof and utter laziness?
Was it because you cared or sometimes questionably do?
Was it because of your expressiveness or passivity?
Was it because of your openness or because you were cloaked in mystery?
Was it because of your honesty or lack of reserve?

In all these, what could I have possibly adored and admired in you?

I didn't want to tell you for you usually make fun of me when I tell you how I feel, despite you telling me it is all right to feel and that I shouldn't be ashamed of it. Hypocrite.
Still, I would want you to know what it was that sparked the attraction.

Just not in person.

I just can't say it matter-of-factly when each word spoken intimately entwines with the love I have felt for you then.
I would completely lose myself and drown, knowing full well you would never save me.