Unrequited

I love you.
Why can’t you see that?
For that matter…
why can’t I say it?
You’d scoff at me, that’s why.
“You don’t know me at all,” you’d say.
But do I have to?
I don’t care what you think.
I don’t care who you are.
I’m not stupid; I know you better than you realize.
Why am I just another classmate to you?
…Is it really like that?
In one sense, you’re above me;
in another, we’re equals.
So which am I to you?
Does it even matter?
It doesn’t change the fact that,
somewhere within me,
at the back of my mind, maybe,
or the corner of my heart,

…I still love you, even if you don’t know it.
And if I never get the courage to tell you,
… I suppose I’m alright with that.