Summary: If you had the chance—or the courage—what would you say to an unrequited love?

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Somedays

What would it take to make you like me?

I see you, every day. Somedays you’re chatting with your best friend and I see you laugh and smile and the ache fades, just a little. To hear your voice, gaze at your smile, dream about your eyes... somedays that’s enough for me.

But somedays I catch you strolling down the hall with her hand clasped within yours and my heart cracks like ice and I just want to die. You’re content. Happy. Complete.

And the worst part?

You’re not that way with me.

Somedays, I want to hate you, I want to—just once—gaze at you with indifference and mean it. I want to hurt you as you’ve hurt me. But I can’t, because in reality I’m too weak for that. Hurting you would be like hurting myself.

Do you care that you hurt me? You’re a nice guy and that’s why I like you... but do you care, or am I that insignificant to you?

Somedays, I like to think we’re friends, at least. We make small talk and say “hi” in the hallways. Our longest conversations happen outside the classroom, online where it’s just you and me.

But I guess that’s all we can ever be, huh? Passing acquaintences, barely friends.

Somedays, I’m bitter like this. I want to sob and cry and yell at my misfortune of having loved you, you who has probably never even glanced at me like I want you to, and you who probably never will.

Is there something wrong with me? Somedays I wonder. Am I too fat? Too ugly? Too stupid? Too loud?

I suppose you’ll always be out of my reach. Perhaps I should just resign myself to always be the bystander, the stereotypical girl who will gaze longingly at the object of her affections, but will never have him. Look, but not touch. Long for, but never have.

But never mind me—go on your merry way, and within a few weeks’ time, you’ll have probably forgotten about what I’ve said. Maybe at first you may feel sorry for that poor girl who pines for you—but then you’ll catch sight of your girlfriend, and all thoughts of me are out the window. I don’t mind; you can’t help it. Just like I can’t help but love you.

And don’t feel sorry for me. I think I feel sorry for me for the both of us.

But I just want you to know—I’m giving you up. I’ll give up all my dreams, all of my fantasies, about you and I—so please, give me back my heart. It’s only fair.

Still, there will be somedays when I’ll dream about if things were different. What could have been and...

what will never be.

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Notes: Sort of inspired by my story Second Place, sort of by my own experiences, I don’t know. What I do know though is that no matter who you are, sexuality, race, or gender, you can identify with this.

It’s sort of a jumbled up mess of feelings and emotions, but I thought it was more realistic that way. (Shrugs)

Tell me what you think!

written: 3 December 2005