You asked me if I like you.
It's irrelevant to say that I could kiss you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
It doesn't answer you even if I tell you that I could live in your hug.
It won't give you peace even if I tell you that I lost mine when you appeared.

You said you thought I didn't like you since I can never tell you I do.
And I told you I thought so too.
You said you like me, though.
I still couldn't say I like you.