I've been in love with you for 5 winters now, and you liked me more than a friend for 1 summer only. I guess I'm free to say you were unfair, but love just doesn't work like that, huh. Funny how after all these months of not seeing you, after all confessions and farewells sent both ways, after all rejected requests of hanging out, I still think of you in the middle of the night and ask myself afterwards why I was even blessed to be able to call you mine for even one measly bit of summer. It still pains me whenever I look and hear stuff that reminded me of you, and even had the audacity to ask the world why my heart bled with the idea of you not looking at me the same way I look at you. I am a dreamer. You were not. Maybe that was why we were not meant to be and that this love I had for you was doomed from the start. And everything we've been through together was all in my mind, with you not even realizing how those memories were very special to me. You taught me things my heart made a different meaning and I wasn't able to shield myself from those ever present swaggering grin I loved since I first noticed that you were worth it. You were worth a priceless painting bursting with every kaleidoscopic colors. You were worth precious stones and jewelries even I cannot bear to possess. You were worth bargaining with the stars. Only the stars never deemed me worthy enough to have you, because they never really suggested that I was even worthy in those pretty eyes of yours. And gosh how selfish of me to even say that aloud. Of how I thought the stars were very unfair to me. They were unfair because they made me "me". I hate my life more than I realized then. I was poorly made, unique, in some ways that are uncommon, unusual, unblessed—abhorred by perfect people. But you,

I will never be worthy of having your heart, and though I am happy to watch you being happily in love with her, I can't help but be sad she wasn't me in the end. I can't help but be sad I am me and that is that.