More Than Love, A Stubborn Wish

I often wonder—can love be born from indifference? Maybe it can. After all, he never really spoke to me in a familiar, friendly way. Not once did we share a conversation that lingered, or a laugh that echoed beyond the moment. And yet, he knew. I’m sure of it. He knew that I liked him.

It wasn’t something I screamed to the world, nor was it written on my face in bold, desperate ink. But he must have sensed it in the way I glanced his way a little too often, or in the way my smile betrayed me whenever our eyes met—briefly, accidentally.

Over time, my feelings evolved, shifting like the colors of the sky at dusk. What began as a quiet admiration grew into something heavier, more stubborn. He stopped being just a person I liked. He became a determination. A wish I couldn't let go of.

It’s strange, isn’t it? To feel so deeply for someone who has never really made an effort to know you? He never ignored me outright. No cruel words, no intentional avoidance. He just always seemed... busy. Too caught up in his own world to spare a thought for mine. He never pushed me away, but he never pulled me closer either.

And still, I stayed. Waiting in the background of his life, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he would turn around and see me standing there. Hope can be a cruel thing sometimes. It clings to you like fog, clouding your reason, making you believe in impossible things.

I can’t say if he loves me. I don’t even know if he thinks of me at all. But what I do know is that this isn't love anymore. At least, not the kind people write poems about. This has become a challenge I’ve set for myself. A mountain I want to climb simply because it’s there.

He is no longer just the boy I liked. He’s the one I want to prove something to—even if I don’t know what that something is. Maybe I want to prove to myself that I’m not invisible. That I can matter to someone who never chose to care.

But I’ve also realized something else: chasing someone who keeps walking ahead without ever turning back... that’s not love. That’s self-inflicted pain. And I’m not tired, not yet. But I can feel the weight of waiting start to press down on my heart.

Maybe if, one day, he turns around—just once—I’ll be able to love him truly. Freely. Without fear or pride. But until that day, I can’t keep running after a dream that doesn’t pause for breath. I can't let him be the center of a story that he doesn’t even know he's a part of.

Because love should never be a chase. It should be a meeting. A place where two hearts choose to rest, not one dragging the other behind. And while he may have become my obsession, my stubborn desire—I know now that I deserve more than that.

So maybe it’s time to stop. To let the silence speak, and to allow whatever’s meant for me to find me without me having to fight for it. If he was meant to love me, he would have seen me by now. And if he ever does—if our paths ever cross again in a way that feels like destiny rather than desperation—maybe then I’ll let myself love him again.

But for now, I’ll let go. Not because I’m giving up, but because I’m growing up.

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