Romantic love has never been so present in my life like it is now. I ́ve always been that shy, introverted girl who hided in the corner and dreamed. I dreamed.
Maybe this is just me going back to my old habits. Maybe this is not real, but it looks real. The pain I feel every time you ignore me in church, every time you look at me but choose not to talk, every time you ignore any request I nervously make you. Every time you proof me that you don’t like me, more than that, you barely notice my existence.
I look crazy, I act crazy. Hearing your name makes me cringe. I don’t know what kind of defense mechanism this is but somehow denying I like you, pairing you with my best friends, is my stupid way of mentioning your name, talk about just how great you are without exposing my self. Exposing my love. Exposing my feelings.
I know this is crazy, I know you will never like me. I mean why would you? You are too perfect to be real. You are so perfect that some could say you are a psychopath. But I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t mind to be a victim in your hands.
Sometimes I try to make myself believe that this isn’t real love. That this is simply me giving up to the social pressure that is simply wanting to love. But then reality hits me hard. What I feel for you is more than that. No matter how hard I try I just can not get you out of my head.
You are my unrequited love. You don’t know me. But feel like I know you more then I know myself. Sometimes I love you, others times I hate you.
I hate you for not noticing me, I hate you for not making me the center of your world, I hate you for making me gravitate to this horrible state of depression. I hate you for making me love you this hard.
But the love that I have for you outweighs the pain and the hate I feel for you. Honestly even my hatred towards you is a reflection of my deep love for you.
Therefore I choose to keep loving, keep dreaming and keep wanting. I love you so dearly, I think I love being a masochist.