Crappily in love

577232_512534302151737_1792024552_n I like him. I like him a lot. Maybe I more than like him. He’s between like and love, I guess? Well, maybe or maybe not. I’m sort of fond of him. I feel giddy, lightheaded, and elated, with the proverbial fluttering butterflies in my innards when he’s near or when he’s talking to me or even when I’m just plain steal-staring at him while I’m fetching water from the water dispenser.

I have had my share of feelings like these. Once in high school with my self-confessed first love who rejected me and once in college with someone I felt really connected with but turned out to be nothing but feelings unrequited and unreciprocated.

Now that I am a mature – sort of – career woman, I am having these feelings yet again; the feeling of liking someone, or rather more than liking someone, who doesn’t feel the same thing.

I really hate feeling like this. I feel like I am such a loser who’s always contented by just staring and feeling in love from afar. I always ask myself, why can’t he like me like I like him? Am I not loveable enough? Do I look that bad or that bland not to be noticed beyond the friend zone? Why can’t I have the happy love story I so wanted, and obsessed, to have?

This sounds bitter but I really feel this crappy these days having these feelings yet again. I always say to myself before not to like anyone the way I did with the first two “loves” I have had in the past. But I don’t know what came in to me that, again, I have the fever that I so tried hard to avoid. Epic fail!

Now, I’m making poems again; poems of unrequited love, of unanswered prayers, of unreciprocated feelings. Now, I’m writing again about my madness, my hardheadedness, my foolishness. Now, I’m longing, wanting, wishing, hoping. Now, I’m preparing myself yet again for another stretch of one-sided loving.

I don’t know when will I learn my lesson, when will I tell myself to stop my folly, when will I put a halt on my craziness. All I know is that I may feel crappy but I so love this crappiness. I like the churning innards when I see him or even think of him. I like painting scenes of me and him in my head. I like writing poems about him. I like longing, wanting, wishing, and hoping for him. I like it even if it meant the household one-sided loving I’m used to ever since.

Pathetic, really, but I can’t help myself even if I try so damn hard. I wanted to hate myself for being such an easy target for the bug that has been buzzing over me since puberty; longing, wanting, wishing, hoping for that person who would never ever like me.

Why can’t I be just a normal girl, a normal woman, who likes and is liked in return? For once I wanted to be liked, if not loved, by him. But I know it would be a long shot; a shot at the moon that is. It’s just that can’t I be happy because someone I like likes me? Is it that hard to do? Can’t I be happily in love and loved once and for all? Can’t love give me a break and be easy on me?

Just this once, I just want to be happy. I don’t want to be crappily in love anymore.

(**Photo credits from the wires**)

Posted on August 7, 2013, in What's in mind and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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