Unrequited love is like a fictional novel.
It only has life as long as it is in your hands.
It is addictive.
It is emotionally manipulative.
It becomes so real,
That it takes over your life.
Nobody will ever understand your tears
Unless they have read it for themselves.
And no matter how many times they tell you to put it down,
You have become so engrossed
With this black and white thing
That has brought so much colour into your life
Yet, somehow you have nothing to offer it.
At the same time,
You have given it your all.
And in that gesture alone,
You lose yourself.
It becomes part of you.
Then it is over!
It is sudden
And always such a shock;
Regardless of how obvious it was
Somehow, it hurts.
For a while,
You are empty.
Nothing but this indescribable feeling matters.
The only solace that can ever be gained
Comes from acceptance.
Can one ever to accept scars they can’t see?
From a blade that never really existed?
But has caused actual hurt?