It’s the worst feeling ever, loving someone who will never be yours. I never thought I’d be that girl, y’know? The one who falls for the wrong person, the one she can’t be with. But here I am, waking up every morning with him on my mind, going to bed hoping maybe tomorrow he’ll look at me the way I look at him.

He’s not mine. He never was. And maybe that’s what makes it all worse. There was no breakup, no real moment where things ended, because they never started. So I don’t even get the closure people talk about. All I have is this ache inside me, and the constant “what if” that haunts me like a shadow.

What if I told him? Would anything change? Would he laugh, or would he just smile politely and let me down easy? Or maybe he’d tell me he feels the same, but the timing’s wrong. That would almost be worse—knowing he could’ve loved me if life wasn’t so complicated.

Sometimes I ask myself if I’m just being dramatic. I mean, I’m seventeen. People will say “you’ll love again,” or “this is just your first heartbreak,” like that makes it easier. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t stop me from feeling like my heart’s been stitched together with weak thread and every thought of him pulls it apart a little more.

Is it wrong to still want to see him even though it hurts? When I know every time I hear his voice or see his name pop up on my phone, it’ll mess me up for the rest of the day? Like I’m setting myself up for pain on purpose. But I can’t help it. I’d rather feel something than feel nothing at all.

He’s so close but so far. In the same school, the same circle, sometimes even the same room. But emotionally? We’re on two different planets. He talks to me, yeah, but it’s casual. Friendly. And I sit there smiling, nodding, pretending like I’m not falling deeper into something that has no bottom.

Does he know? I wonder about that a lot. Is he clueless, or does he just not want to say anything? I try to read between the lines of every text, every look, every awkward silence. But maybe there’s nothing to read. Maybe I’m just making up a whole story in my head because it hurts less than facing the truth.

Am I not enough? That question has been eating me up inside lately. Like, maybe I’m not pretty enough or cool enough or confident enough. Maybe if I was different, he’d see me. Maybe if I wasn’t me, he could love me. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because I know I’m supposed to love myself first. But how do you love yourself when you feel invisible to the one person who matters most?

I’ve tried to move on. I really have. I’ve talked to other guys, gone out with friends, even deleted our old messages so I wouldn’t re-read them a million times. But nothing works. It’s like he’s burned into my memory, into my chest, into everything.

Will it always feel like this? Will I always look back at this time in my life and remember the ache, the longing, the almost-love that never happened? Or will he just become another blurry face in the crowd one day, and I’ll laugh at how hard I used to cry over someone who didn’t love me back?

Sometimes I feel like I’m being punished for caring too much. Like maybe I gave too much of myself away without realizing it, and now there’s not enough left for me.

I wish I could go back to before I felt this way. When love was just an idea and not a knife in my chest. When I didn’t overanalyze every word, every text delay, every emoji. When I wasn’t stuck in this loop of hope and disappointment.

Loving someone you can’t have is like living with a ghost. You see them, feel them, ache for them—but they’re not really there. And deep down, you know they never will be.

But here’s the thing—I don’t regret loving him. Not even a little. Because even though it hurts, it also taught me so much. About myself. About feelings. About the kind of love I want and deserve. And maybe that’s the first step to letting go.

Maybe one day, I’ll meet someone who looks at me the way I look at him. Someone who doesn’t make me question everything, someone who stays. Until then, I’ll let myself feel this, cry about it, write about it… and eventually, heal from it.

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