I'm the only person who listens to him practice his horrible French, and the person who gives him dozens of pencils because he always looses his own.

I'm the only person who buys him lunch when he do not have the time, and who makes sure he pays me back so my friends don't kill him.

I'm the only person who will follow him when he walks up and says "come with me."

I'm the only person who he talks to nearly every night , the only person who he tells his problems to, because I'm the only person who knows he has them.

I'm the only person who listens, listens to his worries, his fears, and his hopes. I'm the only person who has heard him cry.

I'm the only one who comforts him, who tells him, as he tells me all the time, "It'll be fine."

I'm the only person who listens to him talk about her, how much he likes her, and how she doesn't like him back.

There is one more person that only I am:

I am the only person who is in love with him.

But all of that, which I know he appreciates, and he is still in love with her, not me. And I know why, and it makes sense to me.

She is beautiful.

She is smart.

She is nice.

She is loved by everyone.

She is my best friend.

And all I can do is listen to him talk, because I don't him to stop calling me, or to stop telling me his problems, even when they hurt me.

I am afraid of losing him.

I will listen--he is heartbroken, how could I not?

Because she doesn't like him.

I'm the one who likes him.

So I listen to him talk, and cry, and describe how it feels when she looks at him, or doesn't look at him, and how empty he feels when she walks away.

I do my best to comfort him, and to tell him that it will get better, but I know my words are meaningless and do nothing to help him.

I know this because I am in his shoes.

I know exactly how he feels when he describes the needle slowly stabbing at his heart, or the hammer quickly slamming against it. I have experienced for myself the feeling when the heart grows tiny, fragile wings and begins to flutter, only to have noxious, poison gas sprayed upon it. I know how terrible it feels as the wings shrivel and die and the heart falls upon hidden spikes.

I know how he feels, so we talk about our heartbreak, and I wonder why I can't be the one he likes.

I guess I know the answer, though.

People want what they can't have.

I am just his heartbreak buddy.

The sad thing is, he knows how I feel.

He's known it all along; he were the first person to guess, and he comforted me as I cried.

He were also the first person to warn me that I would get hurt.

His first warning was followed by those of many others.

My friends want me to stop. "Why do you like him?" they say. To them, he is a stone wall, has no feelings, thoughts, or emotions other than annoyingness. He is hated.

They tell me to stop giving him what he wants, to stop lending him pencils I know I'll never see again, buying him food, going along with his plans, and most of all, to stop listening to him on the phone.

They do not blame me for my heartbreak, though, they blame him.

"What kind of person talks about their crush to the girl who he knows has a crush on him?"

Yeah, and what kind of person listens to it.

It hurts.

I can laugh as I listen to him describe the hopeless things he does around her, and laugh as she and I catch him staring, but later, the laughter comes back as sharpened lightning bolts aimed at my heart.

After all this, I still love him.

I love the way he smiles, showing his perfect, straight white teeth, and I wonder at the fact that he has never worn braces.

I love his hands, how big they are, and how, even after throwing snowballs, they are surprisingly warm. He used to have thumb wars with me, and I went along with it, even though I never won, because I liked how warm his hands were.

I love it when he literally forces me to wear his jacket when he thinks I'm cold.

I love it that, when he is trying to tell me something, his face twitches and he stutters.

I love it when he opens his arms, puts on a sad face and says, "I need a hug."

I love how, when I'm sad, he says my name really quietly while trying to think of something to say that will make me feel better.

I love how he mumbles sometimes, and then denies it so forcefully.

I love him because he always cheers me up, although he is usually the reason I'm sad to begin with.

I hate how everything he did was because you were sad about her, though.

And right now, I wouldn't care if he used me to get over her. He says it wouldn't be fair to me, and I wouldn't be really happy.

And I know that too.

I know I would end up even more hurt in the end, and that it would only be an illusion.

But right now, all that I can think of is that I would be with him.

And it hurts to let go, so I just keep wishing and dreaming, and crying over my first broken heart.