There is a quiet ache in me, a throb deep in my chest that grows louder every time she looks at me. It isn’t her smile that gets to me, though it is soft and warm, like sunlight filtering through thick trees on a quiet afternoon. It’s not the way she laughs, a sound that bubbles out like water running over rocks, pure and unforced. No, it’s the way she *sees* me. The way her gaze lingers for just a fraction longer than it should, as though she's looking past the surface, searching for something hidden beneath. And I fear that if she ever truly saw me, if she knew the depth of what I felt, she would never look at me the same way again.
They say that love is a mirror—something that reflects what we want to see in the other person. But for me, it’s the opposite. To love her is to lose myself in her eyes, to feel every inch of me unravel as she pulls away, not out of malice, but because she will never know. To be loved, I think, is to be seen. *To be loved is to be seen.* But I am not seen by her—not in the way I need, not in the way my heart desperately wants.
I watch her from a distance, as she moves through the world like water—effortless, graceful, with the kind of presence that makes everything else fade into the background. She’s like the moonlight on the ocean, glowing softly, illuminating the shadows that I have kept locked away inside me. It’s cruel, really, how beautiful she is, how she radiates light, while I feel myself sinking deeper into the darkness, farther from her grasp, yet endlessly drawn to her.
My feelings for her are like a river, constant and relentless, pushing against the rocks of my resolve, threatening to overflow. It’s a tide I can’t control, a current that pulls me toward her even though I know I will drown in it. The love I feel for her is not like the peaceful ripples on a lake; it’s a raging storm, a storm I can’t stop, even as I try to swim away from it. Every word she says, every gesture, feels like a wave crashing against the shore of my self-restraint, leaving me gasping for air, yet unable to escape.
I keep my distance, not out of fear of her, but out of fear of what will happen when she finally sees the storm inside me. I want her to see me, to understand how deeply I long for her, but I know that to let her in, to expose the raw truth of it, would be to invite destruction. She would see all the things I try to hide—the cracks in my heart, the way I ache to be more than just a friend, more than the girl who’s always there, always waiting, always silently loving.
The hardest part is knowing that she will never see me that way, never understand the way my heart beats just a little faster when she’s near. I am caught in the undertow of her gaze, drowning in the possibility of a love that will never be. She will never see me as anything more than a friend, a companion, a familiar face in the crowd. She will never know the way I burn for her, the way I ache to be the one who lights up her world, to be the one who makes her heart race.
To be loved is to be seen. To be loved is to know that the other person sees you in a way that no one else can. They see your flaws, your scars, your broken parts, and still choose to love you. But I know that she will never see me—not in the way I need, not in the way I crave. She will never see the parts of me that ache for her touch, for her warmth, for the kind of love that only exists in the quiet spaces between two people who *truly* understand each other.
I hold on to this love in the dark corners of my heart, hiding it like a secret that could shatter everything if it were ever exposed. It’s a love that burns quietly, hidden beneath the surface, a fire that will never be kindled. But it’s there, always there, a constant ache, a yearning that I know will never be returned.
There are moments when I catch her looking at me, really looking at me, and I wonder if she sees anything. If, for just a fleeting moment, she sees the longing in my eyes, the way my heart shudders at her proximity. But then she looks away, and I am left alone with the truth that she will never know. I am left drowning in a sea of my own unspoken words, caught between the love I feel and the silence that separates us.
And so, I wait. I wait in the shadows, hidden beneath the surface, loving her from a distance, knowing that to be seen is to be loved, and that I will never be seen in the way I long for. I will never be more than a ripple in her life, a quiet wave that passes unnoticed as she floats on, unaware of the storm that churns just beneath the surface of my heart. To be loved is to be seen, and yet I remain unseen, caught in the tide of my own desire, helpless against the currents of my unrequited love.