If Only He Knew

Painfully In Love

It's not lovely. The way that I want him.
It started at a college volleyball match. He walked past me and he looked, but I couldn't.
I couldn't look, I couldn't breath.
He's beautiful.
He's just a boy.
I can't focus around him.
He's just a boy.
He was the first boy I have ever loved. Was he the last? Yes, for he is killing me.
He's killing me.
He's killing me.
He's killing me.
Before I met him, I never knew what it was like to be able to look at someone and smile for no reason. There's just something about him I'm scared to lose, because I know I won't find it in anyone else. I want to hold his hand, laugh at his jokes, walk by his side, snuggle on the couch, look into his eyes, talk about whatever and kiss his lips every single day.
Except, that will never happen.
For I can feel them. The thorns and branches that grow inside of my lungs.
I can't breath.
Not because he won't love me, but because I can't stop loving him. He made flowers grow inside my lungs and, although they are beautiful, it hurts. With flowers growing inside, I wish I could tell him what he means to me. I'd rip them out to give to him, a bouquet of unsaid I love you's.
I can love him so desperately, but his love is never guaranteed. Even though I am dying, slowly and painfully, he will never be unloved from me, for he is too well tangled in my soul.