Confessed but Unrequited

His face, my eyes wander with nearly every moment I’m near him

His eyes, pretty and hazel, saying so much and so little all at once

His hair, a dark brown that bounces a little with each step he takes without him knowing

He doesn’t want me

His hands, soft and feminine, but still strong and powerful—just like him

His voice, silly and sweet, and oh so comforting when I feel upset

His laugh, a soft chuckle, even when almost crying from it, and so genuine you can’t help but laugh along

He doesn’t want me

His face makes my heart skip a beat every time I see him

His name, each time it’s said, my heart races

His voice, I never want him to stop talking for as long as I live

He doesn’t want me

His smile, so genuine and so sweet and innocent it becomes contagious

His hands, I wish every day they were holding mine

His everything, I want it all. He’s so wonderful. I want it all to be mine. I want to be his.

But he doesn’t want me.

So I can’t want him, either.