You know when you realize that you care about someone, like, a lot, and you know that they don’t care about you back? And you’re just like, “****”. And then you start contemplating the rationale for their disinterest and you look at yourself, because there must be something wrong there, right? Like,
“Are my jokes not funny?
Should I try to be more feminine?
Is my attractiveness crippling,
Or perhaps non-existent?”  
So many questions.
And you don’t want to seem desperate, either. You’re fine. He means as little to you as you do to him. You’ll find someone else, anyways: someone better than him. Someone who will make you feel like his body is a mold crafted especially to hold yours, like his was. Someone who can make you like the songs that you hate because he asks you to give them another listen, like he could. Someone whose casual words, bathing in syllables that sing just like melodies, sound like stolen stanzas from the works of Robert Frost, or T.S. Elliot, like his did.
You’ll find someone better, who will love you back.
Like he didn’t.
But what if you don’t?
Because as hard as you try to convince yourself otherwise, he’s got you wrapped around his finger like a pinky promise meant never to be forgotten and when he looks at you, you can’t explain the chemical imbalance in your brain that prompts your cheeks to blush like the burning embers in a dying fire and your stomach to fleet like a child on a trampoline. But when he entwined his hand with yours, he crossed his forefinger over his middle one and spoke to you in elaborate proposals that sounded like the word “beautiful” became something physical and your limerence was infallible. And, when he let go, he did it so quickly that he couldn’t feel the air around him burst in painful spurts as you groped it desperately for the broken pieces of yourself, and now he’s fine, but what are you supposed to do?
And, just like a moth drawn to a flame and Red Riding Hood to the woods and Icarus to the sun, you’ll never realize that your enticement is really just a very beautiful detriment, and you’ll spend the next number of endless days swearing to yourself that the way your skin burns feels just like magic.