I'm trying to let you know...

It felt like he had typed out his feelings a million times in a million variations. This time wasn't right either. The Englishman sighed and let his blonde head rest against the sofa. Being so sure of your feelings and not being able to express them... was frustrating.

After resting his eyes a moment, he curled up again with his mobile phone and started typing out his feelings again from scratch. His thumb ached at the joints and his eyes watered slightly from the strain of staring at such a small screen. But he didn't care. It will be worth it, he thought determinedly.

'I mean, I didn't always see you this way but, well, I-'

He stared.

"Argh! Goddamn it all!" he growled, slamming his thumb down, erasing his message word by word. Grimacing, the Englishman threw his phone down and crossed his arms.

He glared at his knees, chewing his bottom lip angrily- "Ouch!" His hand flew immediately to his lip as a metallic taste touched his tongue. Displaying his hand before him, he studied the little red blob on his forefinger. A long, tired sigh escaped his lips. How often had he reduced his lip to a bleeding, chewed mess when he was anxious?

I want to do this! I really want to tell- Shaking his head, he wrapped his arms around his legs and pulled himself into a tight ball. So why can't I write that simple message! I'm so... I'm so... stupid.

Slowly, he turned his head to rest the side of his face on the round of his knee. His phone lay abandoned in the centre of the chestnut-coloured sofa cushion next to him. The screen was black, reduced to standby until its user could control his angry mood-swings - ever since the morning began, his mood had shifted dramatically from one extreme to another. And it's all because of that bloody message I can't bloody write! At breakfast he had been so nervous the butterflies in his stomach felt like they were exploding within him like a series of fireworks. The butterflies travelled up from his stomach to his heart as he sat down with his phone, their fluttering morphing into violent pounding as he had begun to type. His fingers flew so fast from button to button, all he noticed was a skin-coloured blur at the bottom of his vision as he squinted at his small screen, eyes busy concentrating, starring and analysing each word he quickly finished writing. After twenty or so tries, he started getting a throbbing headache and his patience started to wear thin. Since then, well, his patience was ready to descend into giving up and forgetting the whole affair completely. I'm such a failure.

Why can't I just bloody write the damn thing? I know what I want to say, but I just... can't seem to get it right. A feeling of desperation travelled up and spread through him. Am I not intelligent enough to articulate my feelings? He continued to stare at the black screen before furrowing his brow. Or is it... I'm not brave enough to actually send anything...?

He was afraid. Afraid of the message he would receive back. What if he didn't text him back at all? Or, he dreaded, even talk to him again? Yes, England was scared. He was such a coward to his own feelings that he had been reduced to sending a 'text message' to the man he loved. A more courageous man would stand tall, control his emotions and communicate his feelings via the more ideal means. In person. Face to face.

He shook off his dampening emotions and grabbed his phone. His thumb hovered poised over the keypad, ready to type the first letter of a new message.

I'm not afraid. I'm not. I'm going to do it this time!

He chewed on his lip, regretting it at once as a tingling pain passed across his lips and the metallic taste again soured his mouth. Okay, think simply. What is the most basic thing you want to say? A second passed. Then a whole minute. He glanced at the blank screen then to his thumb hovering shakily over the keypad... Then it hit him.

Taking a deep, long breath, England slowly, carefully, gently tap-tap-tapped the he waited a second before glancing back to the screen to review what he'd written.

A small smile crept over his face. He relaxed against the sofa cushions. I've done it. I've... finally done it.

Although it had taken him all morning to type his best message, he felt quietly accomplished and contented mentally. At the same time he felt slightly ashamed at himself at its simplicity. But those words, while simple, were completely accurate and carried all his emotions within them. Twice he felt like writing more but stopped himself each time. This, for now... is perfect.

His smile grew. Perhaps the easiest way to say you love someone after all, is to just say those three very simple words by themselves: 'I love you.'

Author's Note: I had the urge to write this. I don't know why but it just kind of happened. I hope it is all right and, although simple, is sweet enough to make you 'aww' or smile. Anyways, I'm thinking of using this to get back into the writing groove... if enough/one of you like this to be a chaptered story, please comment me. I have a few ideas going for this. I'm not used to writing sweet romance and my brain is begging me to 'let the drama begin already!' Haha. Who is England texting? Will he even send his message? *dramatic music* All comments and criticisms appreciated, but please be nice!