I'm in love with someone who doesn't love me.
Always been, always will.
It's a kind of love that consumes my whole, my breath, my heart, my imagination, my mind.
A kind of love that it's not easy to explain and you don't even want to because you know they wouldn't understand... Or maybe they will.
I know I'm not the only one who have felt or feel this way and that's good.
That makes me feel a little less crazy, because what do you mean I'm willingly feeling this? Why am I even cherishing it?
Why am I even following you when I know that you would never reciprocate it?
And the saddest part of this is that probably you don't even mean to be this cruel, you don't even mean to break my heart in thousand of pieces every single time I think about you.
And I absolutely know you never meant for me to fall for you.
But at the end the worst thing is not even that you don't love me, it's not even that I love you, it's not even that you break my heart.
The worst part is that I still fell for you when I knew that you would never love me back, when I knew that I could never have you, when I knew that I would break because at the end of the day you are not here, you don't love me, you don't know me and
you don't even exist.