I can’t blame you. I never could. You never promised me anything, never led me on, never looked at me in a way that said, “Come closer.” But sometimes, I swear, I can feel it—something just beneath the surface, a tension, a pull, like if the world was just a little different, if time had shifted a second here, a choice there, maybe I’d be the one at your side. But I’m not. She is. She gets to touch you without hesitation, gets to say your name and know you’re hers, gets to stand close enough to breathe you in. And I wonder what that feels like. I wonder what it’s like to have your hands rest on my waist, to feel your breath warm against my skin, to have your voice drop lower, softer, just for me.

It drives me insane—wanting something I can’t have, aching for someone I have no right to. Because you are untouchable, and yet I feel you everywhere. I feel you in the way my body tenses when you walk into the room, in the way my breath catches when your arm brushes against mine, in the way I remember every damn thing about you—your scent, the sound of your laugh, the way your lips curve when you’re amused, the way you squint because you refuse to wear glasses, the way your eyes darken when you’re lost in thought.

God, it’s torture. Because I know how this ends—it doesn’t. Not in my favor. No, it ends with me watching from a distance. It ends with me pretending I don’t care, pretending my heart doesn’t twist knowing she’s yours, pretending I wouldn’t give anything to be the one you can’t stay away from. But I can’t blame you. I can only wish, and I can only wait for this feeling to fade, for this fire to burn itself out. But god, it’s slow. And right now, it still burns for you.