I love someone who never really love me.
He loves my companion. He likes my presence. the way I listened, the way I stayed and made them feel like they wanted. My advice is to make them feel cared for, and I bring smiles every time I hold my shoulders. Those are my full supports, and most of all, my love goes unnoticed.
And I ask myself, is this— LOVE. My unreciprocated feelings? The feelings that I never tell. My unrequited connection, that to him it's just a mere kindness.
Is this love? and I answered. This isn't. My stillness, my silence. The secret—the one-sided efforts. It hurt like it. And it didn't call it love, as he never looked at me as if I was the one.
But it didn't break my heart. But I did. All the time I put them first, but he never ever chose me. He is my greatest love, my greatest fear, and my greatest hope — to notice and choose me even for a single period of time.
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