I was 15 when I fell in love with you

And 17 when I admitted to myself that it wasn’t love

or like

or hate

It was in love.

I cried, I think

Because it hurt too much.

Because I was ashamed.

I knew nothing could ever change how I felt

No matter how much wrong you did by me.

I almost told you

Once

Or twice or a thousand times over,

But I couldn’t.

I knew nothing could ever change how you felt.

I hated myself for the things you made me feel

How much your unrequited love hurt

How many nights of sleep I lost to thinking about you.

I thought it brave when I confessed my love

To the silence of my empty room

But that was nothing

Because I couldn’t bear to tell you.

What if i had?

What if i had whispered it at dawn?

What would you have even said?

“I’m sorry.

I’m not your love song”

So I suppressed it

And repressed it

Until it all came back up again at night

Onto this white paper

In a poem titled “You, my love”