❤

xdddd

I would cry. Cry myself to sleep, drowning in the silence of my own despair, knowing I'm never good enough. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much of myself I pour into her, she will never love me back. It doesn’t matter what I do, how much I sacrifice, or how deeply I care—none of it will ever be enough. Because I am not enough.

I am not strong. I am not smart. I am not good-looking. There are other guys who are better than me in every possible way—stronger, funnier, more confident, more worthy. I will still try, because what else can I do? But deep down inside, I know I don’t have a shot. Even if I stay by her side, even if I treat her better than I treat myself, she will never see me the way I see her.

She will complain about guys, saying there’s no one meant for her, that love is impossible. And there I’ll be, sitting right next to her, waiting for my turn. Hoping. Praying that one day she’ll look at me differently, that one day she’ll see me as more than just a friend, more than just a shadow. Then, one day, something changes. Her words become softer. Her laughter lasts a little longer when I say something. She reaches out first.

Is she liking me? I think to myself, terrified of my own hope. I try to fight it, try to suppress the growing warmth in my chest, but it’s useless. The hope takes over, whispering lies that feel like truth. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe, just maybe, she sees me.

She starts talking to me daily. Her presence becomes the highlight of my days, the only thing keeping me together. But I can’t mask my true feelings anymore. If she looked me dead in the eye, she would see a boy—a hopeless, desperate boy—holding onto a dream that is doomed to shatter.

And then, after too many sleepless nights, after too many moments spent overanalyzing her words, I finally gather the courage to confess. I tell her that I love her, that I want to be by her side. I tell her everything, my voice shaking, my heart pounding, my hands trembling. She knows how desperate I am, how I would take any form of love even if it was hollow. She knows I am a boy willing to accept crumbs just to feel something real.

I look into her eyes, on the verge of breaking, wondering if this was a mistake. Wondering if I just destroyed the one thing I had. Wondering if she will ever love me.

And then, she runs over and hugs me.

For a second, just a second, I think maybe, just maybe, I was wrong. Maybe I do have a chance. Maybe love isn’t as cruel as I thought. But then, reality sinks in.

Because even in her arms, I feel the truth. This isn’t love. This isn’t what I’ve been dreaming of. This is pity. And I don’t know what hurts more—the fact that she doesn’t love me or the fact that she feels sorry for me.

I sit there, paralyzed, my heart breaking in a way I never imagined possible. I want to believe in something more, but I can't. Because I was never enough, and I never will be. And the worst part? No matter how much this pain consumes me, I know I’ll still wait for her, hoping for a love that will never come.