I am your unrequited love.

You might not recognize me. It’s alright, I don’t stand out much. You’re much more noticeable than I am, really. That’s probably why you’re the crush and I’m… what does that make me? The one getting crushed, I suppose.

I’m not wilting away over here, don’t get me wrong. I am perfectly capable of socializing and thinking and living while harboring a secret little affection. I’m not going to swoon and sigh and tell all of my friends and doodle in my notebook.

But I thought I would tell you. I mean, you deserve to know that someone loves you, right? You can take it into consideration, I guess. Remember, when you smile and wink and tell your ridiculous jokes in Spanish class that there might be someone, sitting in the back, biting their tongue to keep from laughing.

Is this creepy? I really didn’t mean it to come of as creepy. Maybe flattering. You’re so… real. Mad. Different, maybe. There’s something about an unrequited love, don’t you think? Something that’s just… special. Not to sound corny.

If I’m being perfectly honest, I’d prefer my love to stay unrequited. I don’t want to find out what happens when your jokes aren’t funny and your hair isn’t always perfect and your friends are annoying. If you liked me back, I’d have to accept that you’re a person, not an idea.

It’s selfish of me really. I like the idea better, but I think I sort of owe it to the person to tell you.

Don’t bother trying to figure it out, really. Take it as a compliment and we’ll both go on our way. This way, I get to keep the memory of that kid with the perfect hair and the best jokes and how I don’t remember any Spanish because I spent most of that class listening to you talk. And you get to remember the little voice in the back of the room that laughed at all your jokes, you anonymous little unrequited lover.