The worst bit

You know, when it comes to being in love with you, the worst part is not the fact that I know you will never love me back. Or the fact that I have no idea why my feelings are still so strong for you. Or that I have to see you frequently and pretend that to me you are just another friend.

The worst part is you seeing me so goddamn vulnerable, helpless. The fact that you see me breathless after walking a significant distance, that you feel compelled to carry me across a certain place when it seems I can’t manage alone. When you help me push my wheelchair if I seem to have my arms full. When I’m having a panick attack.


That is the worst thing about being in love with an athletic, active, good looking guy like you. The fact that you may feel sorry for me. That is messed up. What kind of girl would want to appear at her weakest in front of the guy she likes? I desperately wish to look glamorous in front of you. At least a bit graceful.

But. You know. I can’t. And that is sad



The blush that creeps into my face when I see you
The smile that twitches at my lips
The eyes that tear themselves away
And the heart that momentarily sings
And sinks like a deflated balloon tired of soaring too high
Because hey, you aren’t really mine
But in the moments that you make these things happen, You are mine, and mine alone