my Unrequited love from years ago. my everything back then, but he’s not really mine. He is the sun to my solar system – The all consuming entity around which this little planet I reside in revolves. He is the punctuation in these strings of words I write and think of – a deceivingly insignificant detail, one which, in its absence, can render a sea of infinities looking and sounding like garbage. He is the silence that empowers, builds and comforts. Never has anyone stood quietly beside me and radiate with an assurance so potent that I can almost bask and feel alive with just his existence alone. He is the person whom all these are dedicated to, and he does not know. — Unrequited love from my old faded journal.
They say the worst feeling in the world is the moment you feel that ache in your chest, that undeniable throbbing pain in your ribcage, the moment the knot in your stomach is pulled tight, that what is known as heartbreak. But let me tell you, it’s not. Saying it was would be the same as saying the moment of death is worse than the moment you hear you’re going to die and all moments after that until the second your heart stops beating. No, the worst feeling in the world is when you know someone doesn’t love you back, but they haven’t told you yet. It’s when they haven’t confirmed the fact that your love is unrequited, but you know it is. And it is when you feel that tiny little tear starting to form in your heart and there is nothing you can do about it. You know your heart will bleed, but it doesn’t yet. The worst is that even though you know you’ll be devastated, lying on the ground, wanting to rip your heart out of your chest because you don’t want it to hurt so much, you are unable to prepare yourself for that moment. Why? Because you still have that little amount of surreal hope. And you know it is all in vain, but you can’t help having it. That, hanging somewhere in between, feeling the cracks starting to form in your heart, but still trying to glue it with water made out of unconfirmed suspicions and a hope in vain. That is the only feeling worse than heartbreak itself.
You always tell me you want it to be her but, to me it will always be you. Always.
With only less than a year of knowing you, you already took a special place in my heart. You’ve already awakened a feeling in me that I thought was only the brotherly kind. The brother I always wished I had. You became like my guy best friend and I always saw us like that. Just like that. But I proved this feeling wrong when you started talking about an anonymous girl. I thought that feeling a bit irritated whenever you talk about her was just normal. I thought it was just like the little-sister-learning-that-her-brother-got-a-girlfriend feeling. The one where the little sister gets scared because her brother might have less time and attention for her just because he’s got a new girl.
You got way too comfortable talking to me about her that every conversation we had. It’s always her you blabber about. It was okay with me at first but, I started hating it when I also started hating the feeling I’d get every time you talked about her. It was like you were only talking to me because you had something to talk about her again. The girl you could’ve had a chance with but she didn’t take the risk at all. The girl from your high school days who was also the girl best friend that—cliché as it may sound—you fell for.
She was your greatest crush. You shared your story with me. A long story that all boils down to you trying to take a chance on her but, she can’t give you that chance because she’s still head-over-heels in love with her ex. After all, you just can’t compete with a past flame that lasted for six freaking years. I became your confidante, your diary of wasted time and effort for her, and your ever-so supportive adviser and sometimes, reality-slapper. This went on for at least a couple of months and as those days passed I realized that the irritation I felt was somehow growing into a feeling of hurt. I get those little pinches in my chest whenever you tell me how you plan on asking her for a date or when you name those imperfections she had but you still love her despite that.
I became your confidante, your diary of wasted time and effort for her, and your ever-so supportive adviser and sometimes, reality-slapper.
You always tried to be with her but all those attempts turned futile. She always had reasons. She always turned you down. Somehow, I get what she was trying to tell you. I told you it was her way of telling you to stop, that you won’t have that chance that you wanted. You even asked for signs but it yielded negative. Yet you chose to ignore them.
Do you know how much it equally pains me when you tell me that you’re hurt every time she turns you down? If I could just be with you and hug you every single late night that you tell me those stories, I would do it in a heartbeat. If I could just take even half the pain of what you’re feeling, I would willingly take it. All those things that you wanted to do and experience with her, I’d be more than willing to capture every moment with you. And the way you wanted her to fall for you?
I would happily make that blind leap and take the free fall with and for you.
Why do you have to keep running towards her when every single step, you just take yourself straight into a dead end? Why don’t you just turn your back and see me waiting for you at the opposite end? Why is it that after all those times that she wounded you, it’s still her? And why is it that after all those times I’ve been there for you, you never even took a single glance at me?
heart break 