I guess I wasn’t handsome enough for you to love me. My reflection is a shadow in a glass that never quite catches the light.

I watched your eyes wander to places my face could never take you, to smiles that curved in ways mine could not.

I felt the distance grow in the spaces between words, in the pauses where your voice should have lingered. My hands, once steady, now tremble under the weight of knowing that beauty wasn’t carved into my skin, that no angle of my jawline could ever turn your gaze to me.

I guess my laugh wasn’t enough to echo in your thoughts, nor my touch enough to warm the cold in your heart. The mirror whispers it every time I dare to look: not enough, never enough.

So, I’ll step back into the background, let my love fade like a forgotten sunset, knowing that your eyes seek a horizon I was never part of.

An unrequited love dies not in a dramatic flourish, but in a quiet, almost imperceptible fade.
It begins with hope—a hope that stubbornly refuses to surrender, that clings to every smile, every kind word, as though these fragile moments might somehow bloom into something more.

But time, with its relentless passage, wears away at this hope, turning it brittle and fragile, until it cracks under the weight of reality.

The heart, once aflame with the fire of longing, begins to cool. The dreams that once filled the mind with vivid, aching desire grow dim and distant, like stars fading into the dawn.

The object of affection remains unchanged, oblivious, perhaps, or simply indifferent. Their presence, once electrifying, now brings a quiet resignation, a dull ache rather than the sharp pain of unmet desire.

There is no single moment when unrequited love dies. It is a slow unraveling, a gentle loosening of the bonds that once held the heart captive. The day comes when the heart no longer leaps at the sight of them, when their voice no longer echoes in the chambers of your mind. And in this stillness, you realize that what once was, what could never be, has finally been laid to rest.

Unrequited love dies with a whisper, not a cry. It leaves behind not a gaping wound, but a faint scar, a quiet memory of a longing that once was. It fades into the background, becoming just another story in the long narrative of the heart, a tale of what might have been, had the stars aligned differently.

And though it fades, it leaves a mark—a reminder of the beauty and the pain of loving in vain.

She doesn’t care for me.
The realization settles slowly, like a cold mist creeping in at dawn, wrapping itself around me until it chills me to the bone.

I had clung to hope, even as it unraveled thread by thread, weaving excuses and justifications out of her indifference.
But now, the truth is stark and undeniable, cutting through my illusions with a sharp, merciless edge.

It wasn’t one moment that revealed it, but a thousand small ones—the missed calls, the unreturned texts, the way her laughter never quite reached her eyes when we talked.
OI was always the one reaching out, extending my heart in hopes that she would catch it, hold it, cherish it.

But she let it slip through her fingers, as if it were no more than sand, something to be brushed away without a second thought.

I see it now, in the way she turns her attention elsewhere, her gaze drifting to anything and anyone but me. The conversations that once felt so full of promise are now just empty words, spoken out of obligation rather than affection. Her smile, once warm and inviting, has become a mask, hiding the distance that has grown between us.

She doesn’t care for me, and the weight of it is almost too much to bear.
I feel no  anger, no resentment—just a deep, aching sadness, a sorrow that settles in my chest like a stone.

I wanted to believe that I was special to her, that in me she had found something worth holding onto. But now I see that I was just another passerby in her life, a fleeting presence that she could take or leave without a second thought.

I should have seen it sooner, should have noticed the way her interest waned, the way her words became few and far between. But I was blinded by my own hope, by my own desire to believe that she cared.

I told myself that she was busy, that she had her reasons, that it was only a matter of time before she would come to me with the warmth I so desperately craved.

But she doesn’t care for Mel, and now I’m left standing in the shadow of that truth, trying to find a way to let go of the hope that has kept me hanging on for so long.
It’s a hard truth, a bitter one, but it is mine to face. And as I stand here, alone with this realization, I know that I must find a way to move forward, to reclaim the pieces of my heart that I had so willingly given to someone who never truly wanted them.

She doesn’t care for me.
And that’s ok
. I will care for myself, now.

Do you know how beautiful I think you are?
Your presence illuminates the room, a radiance that transcends mere physicality.

It's in the way you carry yourself,
the warmth in your smile,
the kindness that shines through your eyes.

To me, your beauty is an exquisite blend of grace and spirit, an essence that leaves an indelible mark on my soul.

And now it all comes back
Every wrinkle in your squinted eyes when you smiled
towards me.
Every Laugh we shared.
The short talks and sideways glances
Every absent conversation afterwards
Every Blank Stare.
Every night with a tear stained
pillow wishing you were there.
The reasons I adore you.
And the reasons why we can never be
The reasons I care and the reasons I pretend I don't.
They flood in with the remembrance that hung in your gaze.
Everything I try to erase today has now come back.
I remember you now.
I wish I could forget.
My tears won't allow me.

In the quiet moments between breaths, your presence lingers like the last light of dusk, unwavering and eternal.
I find you in the spaces between my thoughts, where silence speaks your name. Every morning brings a whisper of your laughter, echoing through the corridors of my mind, a melody that never fades
.

You are the ink in my pen, the pause in my sigh, the softness in my dreams.
I carry you with me, a constant companion in the vast expanse of my solitude.
Your essence weaves through my day, a gentle reminder that some connections defy the boundaries of time and space.


Even in the busiest of hours, when the world demands all of me, a fragment of my heart remains tethered to you.
I will never not think of you, for you are woven into the fabric of my being, a permanent imprint on my soul.


In every heartbeat, in every breath, in every fleeting moment, you are there—an indelible mark, an everlasting thought, a beautiful constant in the ever-changing tapestry of my life.

In the quiet hush of night, where the world slips into dreams, I whisper softly, "Good night and sweet dreams, my secret lover."

The moonlight dances through the window, casting silver threads upon my fantasies. Though we are apart, in the realm of dreams, we are bound by invisible strings, delicate yet unbreakable.

Your presence lingers in the shadows, a silent guardian of my sleep, and in the tapestry of my dreams, you are the vivid hues, the whispered promises, the touch that lingers like a haunting melody.

The stars above bear witness to my unspoken vows, each twinkle a heartbeat in the symphony of our clandestine love.

As the night deepens, my thoughts are wrapped in the warmth of your imagined embrace. The world outside fades, leaving only the echo of your name in my heart, a secret shared with the darkness.

Sleep tight, my hidden passion, until the dawn brings us back to reality.
Until then, in the sanctuary of sleep, my love is no longer clandestine .
Good night and sweet dreams, my secret lover.