Agony

When I'm just sitting next to him in French class, my hand tingling, aching for him to touch me it's agony.

It's agony knowing that I couldn't ever do anything about it.

It's agony knowing that even if I tried, he wouldn't want me.

It's agony knowing that even if he did I'd be betraying another one of my best friends.

It's agony that my best friend still loves him, even when she says that she doesn't.

It's agony that if I told him I could never take it back.

And it's agony that if I never do there's never even a chance.

It's agony when we're playing volley ball and he puts his hands on my back so I don't fall and I want them to stay there forever but before I know it they've withdrawn.

It's agony that I can't ask him to put them back.

It's agony when he insults me. When I'm the punchline to a joke and I know he doesn't want me in that way.

It's agony when I have to just laugh it off.

It's agony that I know he swings that way.

It's agony that I'm not even sure I do.

It's agony that I can't talk to him about this.

It's agony because I'm too shy. I don't have enough confidence.

It's agony I can't bring myself to ask anyone.

It's agony that I can't ask my friends, internet or otherwise.

But it's even more agonising when I think "What if?" What if he's just pulling my metaphorical pigtails? What if he really does like me? What if ? What if ? What if ?

When I'm sitting next to him in Form time, my hand tingling, aching for him to touch me, the ghost of his lips on mine; the heat of his knee burning against my leg like fire; his laugh ringing in my ears like church bells; his voice boring into my heart like a drill; I stay silent, I nod when I'm supposed to nod, I smile when I'm supposed to smile and I laugh when I'm supposed to laugh.

I'm not supposed to be living in constant agony, but I'll do that anyway, and I'll do so in silence.