Just Some Short Stories + Things

Unrequited

This is a very personal piece I wrote to get over some old feelings that have been plaguing me recently. Sorry if it doesn't make sense at times. I hope you're all doing well and please enjoy my angst :)

I'm not good enough for you.

Or maybe I just missed my chance, messed up the timing.

Or maybe, just maybe, we were not meant to be like I thought we were.

So, until I figure out which of those three applies to the heavy weight of disappointment settling on me as you find new love, I will dissect our every interaction - past and present - like a high school science class would their specimen; slowly and recklessly, dredging up every bit of information they can get.

We are close, best friends, even. I have pinned after you for years now, every year seeming to flash by as quickly as you try to hide your laughter behind your hands. Despite time passing so fast, the aching I feel has only grown stronger. I can't imagine what fuels it, there is no hope for us in the way my heart longs for. So why does the ache, the physical feeling that quickens my pulse and draws me towards you whenever you're around, seem to be heavier and more pressing every day?

I can't answer that now, but hopefully someday when the pain no longer clouds my mind, I will be able to.

You are a piece of theatre, ranging through emotions and wowing audiences. You never fail to take everyone's breath away during your performance, whether that be because of laughter or tears.

I'm one of the lucky ones queued up behind the curtains to meet you after the performance is done. I get the backstage pass as the stage makeup and the costume come off, but the star power remains within the sheer brilliance of your personality. I would bring you flowers to congratulate you, but you already have someone who brings those and plants a kiss on your cheek.

Mostly I am an audience member in your life, sitting in to enjoy your power, your words, and your actions. I've realized that you can't see me because of the lights, they distort my shape as you glare through them to find a familiar face in the crowd. I am never the face you find.

At the best of times I am a stagehand. I bring you the props you need and set the stage so you can shine. At least for this I am acknowledged with a thank you, sometimes a platonic version of those three little words I long and loathe to hear.

So yes, perhaps I am not good enough for the Hollywood starlet inside of you.

Our relationship is like a game of phone tag, but it's been my turn for too long. You called first but my phone was on silent. I called next and you didn't pick up.

There was that one time our call connected and you probably could've felt the heat from my cheeks over the phone, like I could from yours. That conversation was filled with compliments and wonderings of what we were to each other, but you suddenly took an incoming call and decided not to call me back. I tried a while longer, but my hope soon dwindled and I moved on to other voices, too.

Then you called. I picked up, but it wasn't the same as before for you. I kept calling but I was only accepted when my words were a certain way; a way that doesn't make your cheeks heat over the phone. Flash forward and I don't think you even know my number anymore. You aren't picking up this time, or anytime soon, because your line is busy with someone else's sweet nothings.

So yes, perhaps we've just been missing our time. Perhaps my true chance has yet to come.

Happiness. Is that not what we are supposed to crave in relationships, in love? I feel more sadness from the ever-present ache than joy.

Your smile, the way your body fits against mine when we cuddle or hug, your mediocre baking skills, the way you're always willing to help a friend, your love of cartoons, the wavering but getting there self-confidence you have, the way you don't know a thing about some of my passions but let me ramble on anyway; these are all things that used to make me smile, and some still do, but they're spoiled because I know you would never notice or fixate upon such little things about me. (Or worse, that you once did but now don't care too.)

So yes, perhaps I need to start focusing on myself. It seems we weren't meant to be together romantically.

You are still my best friend and I still love you, but I'm blocking your number because I can't stand anymore unanswered calls. I'll be in touch when I'm happy with who I am again, when I know my own worth.

I am good enough for myself, I have learned from my missed opportunities, and I make myself happy.

My love is not unrequited. I love myself.