ur typical unrequited love

Link to article: ur typical unrequited love.

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Even now, I couldn't tell you. It made me want to puke.
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It started as a sensation.

Looking at my eight o' clock, the automatic doors pulled back as you entered the staff lounge. I made out the individual steps you took as you made your way to the counter, pouring yourself a cup of the usual. It'd been like this ever since my eyes met yours, a love at first sight. Fixated on your tall and slender figure, your short acorn trim, and the subtle highlights in your pupils. I could stare at them all day long.

But I quickly turned away, as you faced my direction. You sat by the table across from me, your back facing me as you took your phone out. The perfect opportunity, I took it to catch more glimpses of you. With every sip of your Americano, with every cough and crack of your joints, I spent them silently watching you from behind. Honestly, it's ridiculous. I couldn't help but trail your outline every time I saw you. I guess this was what love felt like, a sensation unlike any other.

In a perfect world, I would've confessed to you right then and there. And in a perfect world, you would've accepted me despite all my faults and flaws. You only just transferred to this site, and I was already head over heels. I wanted to stand by the shore and watch the sun set with you, to share our warmth under the sheets every evening. Dates, marriage, honeymoons. I wanted to spend every day, every anniversary with you. Every waking moment, to stand by your side was all I needed. In a perfect world, those three words would be all I needed.

But no, I couldn't. I was too much of a coward.

Even during your welcoming party, as the walls were adorned with decorations and the people gave you cheerful greetings. The food was delicious, suffice to say. And that red velvet cake, with your name across its face, it was divine. It made me think, about us and me and you and I. It made me think about how this could be us, how I could take up cooking lessons and make you meals every day, how you would give me words of praise each and every time. That cute life we could have had, under the same roof with a Labradoodle or a Pomeranian too. Even as you made small talks with our colleagues, even as I introduced myself through an influx of stutters, I couldn't muster the courage to do it.

'It was just too soon,' I figured.

Even with our plentiful conversations, from our hellos to our goodbyes and everything in between. You charmed me with your voice and the way you'd call my name, though it also hurt me. I wished you'd call me by your name too.

All the same with these circling ideas, these samples of what could be. Even as we worked through multiple projects and assignments, even as we looked over the numerous anomalies under our wing, I kept yearning for more. More time together, more of us together. Would I be wrong, thinking you were looking my way that one time? Would I be selfish, hoping I'd get to keep you all to myself? Was I being too subtle? Was I not subtle enough? If only you'd notice me, tell me you've noticed me. This lingering feeling made me sick to my stomach. It irked me ever so.

Even as I invited you off the clock, even as we spent our afternoons at my favorite cafe, even as I got to know your interests and hobbies, I strayed far from such a path. Thoughts of rejection clouded my vision, thoughts of shattering what we already had. I wanted to puke, to cry in my shower for a fifth or sixth time. Three words, eight letters, enough to make or break our relationship. One more day, one more week. Maybe after this, I could close the gap, shorten the distance between us. I'd see you in a suit, and you'd see me in one too. We would walk hand-in-hand as we each give our vows and our lips and the rest of our lives to the other. A sight to behold, your body exposed on a newlywed night. Honestly… I was getting ahead of myself, wasn't I? Honestly…

Given the occasional park walks and the smiles you gave me during our talks, I thought I had a chance. Not more than two steps away, that lump in my throat was gradually dissipating. I felt it in my chest, that gripping sensation. I could get your attention and you'd be catching glances too, time and time again until we met our time's end. You were here and I was here too. All I had to do was tell you.

But no, I never seemed to do it. These half-sentences were a curse.

Even as the days became weeks and the weeks became months, I couldn't take that step. Even as we exchanged emails and texts, as the logs piled and piled, they never went anywhere past a platonic bond. Even as I blushed and chuckled more often than normal, even as I tried to show off my strong points, you never seemed to turn your head. Even with your one-year anniversary working for this organization, I couldn't even finish making that cake for you. Friend, just a friend. Even now, I was nothing more than a friend to you. What's wrong with me? //What's wrong with me?//

I was an idiot, through and through.

Even as my ears bled from the alarms, as the walls were coated in a heart-wrenching shade of red and the screams would drown out any semblance of thought. Even as the rampaging carried on just right around the corner, death trailing me as I hurried for safety. **{{"A KETER-CLASS ANOMALY HAS BREACHED CONTAINMENT."}}** I found my legs giving chase, but not from the dangers behind me. No, the dangers in my heart weighed even harder. Irritating, annoying, among every other word to describe how much of a fucking mess I was. I'd laugh if I wasn't already crying.

The bunker was just up ahead. Only a few more steps and we'd be there. All I wanted was to see your face, your charming grin again. I'd be safe knowing you'd be with me even at times like these. Even now, I could see you. I'd leap into your arms as my tears stained your shirt. I'd take in your scent as you wrapped your arms around me, shushing me and reassuring me. You'd tell me everything was okay, and I'd believe you.

Making out the individual steps behind me, though, I turned to see you struggling to stand.

Looking at my six o' clock, I found you stumbling and putting all your effort into maintaining your balance. Without a second to spare, I rushed to your aid. At least, I tried to until I was met by your palm. You told me to hurry, to get to safety and leave you behind. Even as the shock pierced every inch of my body, I only stood with my mouth agape. You were moments away from death, and I knew it from the moment my eyes met yours. It would take all of me to ignore such things, but I couldn't. This would be the last time I get to see you, the last time you get to see me. If only I could tell you now, if only I could tell you time and time again. Even then, though…

Even then…

Even as you were on the ground—your hand gripping your stomach, your intestines peaking through while you coughed profusely—I held my tongue. I only crouched down as you laid there, blood coursing through my veins as a pile of sweat and wine formed beneath you. Even as your vision blurred and your skin paled, even as I held your freezing hands, even as my mind shifted through every thought in quick succession, my voice anchored. As the light left your eyes, as you drew your last dying breath, you told me. You told me…

You told me your feelings: Feelings of standing by the shore and watching the setting sun, feelings of sharing warmth under the sheets every evening. Through cries of pain, you reminisced on the times and wished for them tenfold. You wanted to spend every day, every anniversary together. Those same everyday pictures I visioned from the day my eyes met yours, you relayed to me. In a perfect world, it would've been true. Your heart with me and mine with you, we could've been in each other's arms. I'd lead my sight across the length of your smile as we held each other close and never let go. I'd hear words of "darling" and "honey" every morning-to-night. In a perfect world, we would be true.

But no, those weren't for me. Your words of affection weren't for me at all.

At your dying moment, you made me… you made me a messenger. My heart dropped as you shooed me away, begging me to leave. Even then, you hoped for my safety. 'It just wasn't fair,' I thought as I fled the scene, tears swelling in my eyes as I didn't look back. I couldn't look back, I couldn't handle it. That life I built in my mind, it shattered before it could even be. By the end of your life, I was nothing more than a coworker, a friend, a right-hand man. By the end of your life, you told me things I wish I could keep for myself.
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And by the end of your life,
I gave my condolences to your wife.
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ur typical unrequited love

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