It's a borrowed love, this boy. He's not yours.

There was another girl, once, who'd loved him as much as she could bring herself too, but she gave him. She gave him to you, for you to care for, to hold and protect and love. It's not meant to be any sort of forever.

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You feel pressured. You don't want him as much as you did, and there is no spark. But he wants you, which is rare in itself - nobody ever noticed you. Until this boy (oh, he is sensitive and he is gorgeous and oh, he is not yours. He belongs to that girl who could set a heart on fire) showed up and he is all you ever wanted. He builds you up into something phenomenal, some perfect kind of miracle and you cannot stand it.

He's practically made for you, but he was never home, and home was what you'd always needed.

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She understands, all at once, that it is easier for him. Easier because he has absolutely no doubts at all about his feelings for her – he knows; oh he knows, and whatever she says isn't gonna 'mes things up' from his point of view. He feels for her. She knows it, he knows it, they all know.

She cannot tell. She doesn't know if what she feels for him is love or lust or friendship and she doesn't know if what she feels for him will last or if it is enough for her to be with him without being trapped. They ask her that question – (do you love him?) - (yes, I want him, but love?) a hard question with a simple answer, and she wants to tell them, god, those words burn her tongue -

"no."
"I wish."

She needs him, oh, how she needs him; it's crazy. And she wants him. But she doesn't love him. And that is harder than loving him, by far.

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You imagine a life spent by his side, with a tiny wish niggling at the back of your brain that you'd just left him, or that you loved him back. You imagine fifty more years for this, contemplating bleach blond boys with your brown eyes or girls with your curls and his eyes, of forever and gold wedding bands and white dresses. You think of his happiness and his hands and fingers and tongue. You think of how the pads of his fingers prune in the damp, laugh lines halo his eyes, and he is so, so beautiful. You think of how he's willing to carry you home. You think it's worth it.

You will.

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He will never know your doubts. As long as he will never know, it will last forever.

He will be happy.

It's not what you always wished for, not what you always wanted, but it's enough that he will be happy. All your life, it's been about you and what you want and what you need and making you happy, and you think you've been selfish long enough. It's time for you to return the favor.

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You look at him and you think bestfriend and forever but not lover and forever, and you don't know why. Because he is beautiful and everything you've ever wanted (and yes, people say that all the time, but you've actually made a list, and he is everything you've ever wanted – except for maybe the most important one on the list: spark) but you don't love him. It's one thing he's missing, though, and you can look over it. You can.

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The girl who he really belongs to. You are keeping him for her until she is ready to have him, however long it takes. You will be his until he finds another.