I Wish

I wish I was her.

Maybe if I was her you would look at me the way you look at her. 

Everyday we sit in class at the back, side by side. You would stretch across your desk and hold my hand and each time you do my stomach does a flip.

It does a flip because you are my world, but I'm not yours. To you I'm just a friend. But I stayed delusional because you held my hand. 

You held my hand like you were afraid to let me go, like you thought I would disappear if you did. 

So I held on to the hope that maybe, someday you would feel what I feel. The small electricity that ran through me when I saw you, the increase in my heart rate when you smiled. 

And oh when you smile it melts my heart. When you make spirals on my hand with your thumb or when you put my hair behind my ear. It makes me want to…

I just hope you reciprocate those feelings someday. So I held on hoping, and the day finally came through. 

We were in your car and you had just dropped me off, we were parked outside my house. We had just come back from your house where I was helping you study. My hand was on the handle and  I was about to leave the car when you pulled me back. 

I looked around and there was something in your eyes. A look I never saw before. You didn't say anything, you just looked at me. Your mouth opened as if wanting to say something but you changed your mind. 

I reached over to you and held your face bringing it closer to me and you looked at me subtly as If asking permission to which I nodded and then our lips touched.

 Fireworks went off in my body and just like that I knew that you were it for me. But I was wrong when she came in a few weeks later. 

After our encounter we didn't talk about it. You said that I looked really pretty that day and that you just had to. 

I didn't think much about it because you seemed to start liking me back. You looked at me like you were falling in love and you held my hand. So I was happy for her.

She came and you forgot about me. You held my hand but you didn't look at me. Weeks passed by and slowly stopped holding my eyes.

You laughed with her and you looked at her like she was your world. You held her hands. You held her hands.

The worst part is I can't even hate her. She is an angel, the definition of perfect and everyone loves her. 

Do you love her?

She's smart, she's beautiful, she's kind. 

I wish she were dead

Tell me why would you kiss me?, why would you play with my heart?. 

I love you..

But I knew I lost you when I watched your eyes as she walked by. 

I wish I was her

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I wish I was him

Maybe If I were him you would look at me the way you look at him.

I stopped holding her hands because you clearly moved on. 

I saw the way you watched him as he walked by.

Why would you let me kiss you?

I can't even hate the guy, he's a good dude. Maybe he would be better for you. But apart of me is hoping that you liked me back. 

In the following weeks, I felt a growing distance between us. You seemed more captivated by him with each passing day, and I couldn't ignore the way you looked at him. The subtle glances, the shared laughter – it was evident that something had changed.

I made a conscious decision to step back, releasing your hand as a symbolic gesture of acceptance. The pain lingered, but I couldn't resent him; he was a good guy, and maybe he could offer you the happiness you deserved.

One day, as I watched you interact with him, I couldn't shake the feeling of missed opportunities. "Why did you let me kiss you?" I asked again, the question lingering in the air. The answer, however, remained unspoken.

I found myself torn between wanting you for myself and genuinely hoping that he could fill the void I left. It was a battle between my feelings and the understanding that your heart had moved on.

The day you approached me with a serious expression, I knew the conversation would change everything. "We need to talk," you said, and my heart sank. In the quiet corner we found, you admitted the struggle within, torn between our shared history and the new connection you'd formed.

"I care about you a lot, but he came into my life, and I can't deny my feelings for him," you confessed. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the story we once wrote together was now being rewritten with a different ending.

As the days unfolded, I chose to gracefully step aside. "I want you to be happy, even if it's not with me," I said, masking the pain behind a forced smile. It was a goodbye to what could have been, an acknowledgment that our paths were now diverging.

In the aftermath, I grappled with the aftermath of unspoken words and lingering glances. The hallway encounters became a series of near-misses, and the classroom, once filled with shared secrets, now held the remnants of a story that never fully blossomed.

As life continued, I carried the lessons learned and the ache of a love that was, and perhaps, never meant to be. The chapters turned, and I walked away with a heart marked by the complexities of unrequited emotions and the quiet acceptance that some stories are destined to remain unfinished.

I wish I was him.