Not about me.

I feel unseen.

The windows of your house.

You only notice when I'm absent.

I hope it's darker without me there.

Look at the light coming through me.

You see it, but you don't see me, letting it in for you.

I don't think you ever even notice that I want you to notice me.

I'm always there.

I don't know how I make you feel, or how your eyes look at me, but I guess it's different from how you see her.

Because you said Significant Other.

And I sewed my lips shut to make sure they wouldn't betray me and I pressed them into a smile that didn't reach my eyes because pretending is easier than explaining why.

Maybe we're too close.

Maybe friends is all we can be.

Maybe it was a stupid idea anyway.

Maybe we weren't meant to be in love, but I sometimes feel like God created us for each other

Because I feel so comfortable with you, always. More than with anyone else.

Because I breathe easier when you're around.

Because I can pretend I love myself when you're here.

Because my heart split when you mentioned her.

And I don't even know who "her" is.

I'm sorry.

I've been selfish.

I've only thought about what I feel for you and forgot to ask you what you feel for me.

I almost told you, actually.

I almost let you read my blog.

I almost went over to your house on Monday night to let you know that you make me happy.

You make me feel like the world isn't dead

And you make me feel like I haven't cut the tongues out of my emotions, but now their silent stares are reminding me that I destroyed my own humanity.

I guess you won't know that.

I want to tell you that you make me want to be better.

You make me want to return to God.

You make me want you.

Not your body, per se, because it isn't actually about sex this time,

Because I want your mind.

I want to have a conversation with you for hours because we never run out of things to say to each other.

I want your sense of humor.

I want you to make me laugh when I've given up on the world and myself.

I want you to tell me I'm beautiful, not because I have a poor self-image, but because I want you to tell me my soul is worth saving.

I want to tell you I love you, but I know that it can't happen,

Because I'm the windows you look through

And she's the stained glass you look at.

I thought I loved you, but you reminded me that I don't know what love is.

I want to say thank you for that, but it would probably be insincere, and the only lies I tell are of omission.

--Erin