One Sided Love Story

"Write about me" he'd yelled as he ran down the street, and that was the moment I knew. No boy could ever be as beautiful as the boy with hair as golden as a sunrise. No boy could capture my heart so completely that my only thoughts were of him. No boy would ever compare to him and yet that is all they would do for the rest of my life, because writing about him was the only way I could keep him alive, and the only way to keep him with me.

I can no longer differentiate between the words that fell from his mouth and the words I planted there, words planned to fall at precise moments, to evoke precise feelings and to fit precise scenes. His love for me had become a work of fiction, twisting his words to create poetry to soothe my lonely soul. I created a flame that could burn down cities in the blink of an eye from a mere safety flame and the feeling of falling from the sentiment of being pushed.

He looked at me with eyes distracted by the rest of the world, their focus never staying on one spot too long and yet I picture him with eyes that only look for me, only imagine me, only see me. Like a game of pretend that he can never confirm nor deny, I made him my happy place when all I ever felt was sadness and despair.

I wrote him into stories of rocks against windowpanes, screaming, "all I want is you" except the rocks were just pebbles and the screams were for another, but in my mind I could create masterpieces from ideas that were not my own. I could create days where he loved me from days where he'd forget my name.

Like scenes from a play, I'd write his lines and stage directions, perfecting his sonnet of love. He'd press my body against his, kissing me gently whilst enchanting me with sweet melodies that would ring in my ears for days. He'd kiss me like we had all the time in the world but with the desperation of our last moments together. He was molded from the movie screen and pages of novels and teenage girls diaries, only those diaries never seemed to be mine.

I could suffocate in his love, as it overflowed and engulfed every second of our every minute together. His hands would always search for mine and his fingers would comfort my every sorrow, a sorrow now built upon his ignorance. How could he not realize that with every glance in my direction he sent my heart into a flurry, that every time his lips twitched into a smile my heart would journey up my throat only to be silenced by my mouth. He was everything my heart desired while his heart only desired the pretty blonde in the corner of the room.

I walk home alone, my heart weeping as I walk past his door, the made up memories behind those doors blowing through my mind, taunting and bitter sweet. The times we'd lie on his bed, fingers intertwined, my head on his chest as we lay in contented silence or the time we ate more cookie dough than we cooked. I replayed memories of you wrestling with your brother in the backyard, stolen kisses before dinner is served and resting on your shoulder while we watched TV. Moments so cheesy they should be in a rom com but I wanted them to be ours, and yet you don't know, nor will you ever know the crazy stories I create in my head, of the time you say "I do" or even just "I love you too!".