I have feelings for you. There, I said it. Wait. I love you. That’s even more real. That’s the truth. I do. I love you. I love your touch. I miss your eyes, and I crave your presence. I long for you, but I can not say it. I must pretend. I have to keep on pretending that my soul doesn’t cry out for you…that I don’t imagine you holding me at night. I find comfort in that imagined embrace. I feel that you deserve to know of my affections, but to tell you would be like plucking a flower. I don’t want to take you, to own you. It is enough to admire you from a distance. It is enough to love you with no intentions. It is enough to care from afar. Is that not real love? Unconditional and unfair love? Well, it is said now. I do love you, even though you can never know. But I hope my not confessing isn’t hurting you. I don’t want to cause you pain. I hope that you and only you can feel my heart as I walk past you. I think I feel yours, or am I just wishful thinking? I know that I may never know. And you are in the same boat. Why oh why does this have to be so complicated?