The Loving Unloved

I wrote this monologue as a way to help myself get over someone I love. Helped me out, actually.

What is there to say? I'm smitten, infatuated, enamoured, in love... It came as an accident, really- a kind of perfect incarnation of the cliche’ ‘falling in love’. I literally fell into it. An unhappy accident, as it were. A slip, like tired feet on wet grass. I never intended for it to go this far. But oh, how far it had gotten from me.

I remember it so vividly, too, the exact moment it occurred. It really was a kind of epiphany, like God Himself hit me in the back of my head with an open palm. A shocking, jolting realization. It was at the very moment I told him I did not love him, that I could not love him. The moment I tried to set his weary mind at ease with words of logic, of reason, of agreement. I didn’t cry, I simply convinced myself it was true. I laughed, I told him that it wasn’t like I sat awake every night pining for him- which was a blatant lie. As these words flowed so freely from my lips, I felt them become more and more like lies, thick and sticky in my throat. Finally, the jolt struck me at the final, simple statement of, “I’m definitely not in love with you. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.” Oh how I loved him.

There I sat, smiling comfortingly, looking at the torn, sad expression on his face. He felt guilty, and it killed me. He felt so responsible, so blameworthy… And oh, how easy it would be to blame him. I could say he lead me on, I could say he took advantage of me, I could make him feel so much worse- I had the power, the motive, the inclination even. But I couldn’t do it. I could only sit there and assure him, sit there and make these empty promises.

The pain within my heart grew uncontrollably. The agony of loving someone who would never love you back is a pain that can only be felt by the unloved themselves. Many men have loved me and many times have I sat in my love’s chair, feeling guilty and shameful, not knowing what to say. And even then, at that moment, I felt no sympathy for them, though I knew I ought to. As I took his hand gently, I smiled at him and showed him that I was happy and okay, which I was not. I would not do to him what those men had done to me. I would be an adult.

Oh, woe is to the unloved, I thought to myself...

At that moment, I realized that if I truly loved him, he was to never know of my true feelings. He knew I cared, he knew I would be jealous if he found someone else, but he did not know to the extent at which I longed for him to long for me. I would hide it from him. I never again would look at him so lovingly as I once had allowed myself to do. I would never ask him why he couldn’t love me, or ask him to give me a chance. Never. I made a vow to myself that my feelings would remain internalized forever.

Suddenly, I realized what it was like to be an adult. Sometimes we don’t get what we want. Sometimes it simply isn’t worth the effort of chasing. The collateral damage is sometimes too great, too costly, to be worth the hope of one day getting what you desire. Even if you desire said thing with all your heart, all your soul. Sometimes the idea of being loved is better than trying to obtain said love. The dream is often much more satisfying than the reality of the situation.

Afterall, I thought as we stared at each other silently, what would I do if I had him? He was older, he was free spirited, stubborn, spiteful, and things simply would never work. My parents would never approve, we would never be able to get along. He had done so many things that, already, had proved that he could never be the kind of man I could be with. Everything I had told him had been true, to an extent…

Yet still, I loved him. Looking at him, seeing him look at me, I knew that wouldn’t change. No matter what wrong he committed against me, no matter what argument we got into, or the looks we got from others, or the thoughts of others, or the disappointments he would surely bring to me, I loved him wholeheartedly and fully.

Despite all that, despite the love I felt, and would continue to feel to this very day, I knew my place, and my future. It was not with him. I wanted him to tell me he loved me, wanted him to hold me and think of me as the way he did his deceased lover, his one true love- though I understood it would have not made a difference. We could never be happy together.

Was this the pain every adult must endure? Reason and logic? The feeling of wanting something so much, yet knowing that even if you had it you would not be happy? What happened to childish denial? Wanting something and knowing it would make you happy? When had things become so complicated? Why, I asked myself, must I want something I know will only bring unhappiness to everyone in the end?

Unrequited love, once realized, is one of the saddest, emptiest things a person can suffer. It is the feeling of hope being lost, being drained out of you, never to return. It is a moment of pure and utter defeat, of darkness, of loss…

Yet, as we changed the subject and started speaking of happier things, I realized that it was charming, in a way. He would never know how much I loved him. Maybe one day, he might realize, but in the meantime, it was my secret. In my head, we could be whatever I liked. No disappointment, no expectations, no judgements… I could have us be as happy as I liked. I came to realize that the thought of him loving me made me far happier than him loving me ever could. It would make me always want him. Never would I grow tired of him, bored, or love someone as I loved him. It would be preserved in this state forever. He would always have a tender place in my heart, and I would always smile when I thought about him.

I would not pursue him in that way ever again. If he found someone else, I would smile and I would be happy for him… Because I had a part of him that no one else could ever have. I had my fantasy, I had my happy thoughts that made me smile when I was sad. I had the story of us that I had crafted with my imagination. We could never fight, or hate each other, or go through hard times.

I loved him, but I did not need to be loved by him.