Unrequited

Unrequited

Too many poets write about unrequited love as if it’s the worst thing that could happen. As if it’s about as hopeless as one hand clapping.

But it’s like playing with a kite and getting angry when you see it flying. From what I’ve seen from timeless love stories, from what great poets have written, love never demands for anything.

Is one-way love such a terrible tragedy? Are we so tightly wound that we cannot survive with the truth that not everyone we love will love us back?

Unrequited love is sad, but what kind of love isn’t? The purest, most sincere love I’ve seen is not a turbulence. It is more like a silent prayer, even to those who have no god to believe in.

Unrequited is a small word. Say it over and over and you start to question if it even is a word. Unrequited. Unrequited. Unrequited. Unrequited. Unrequited. Unrequited. Unrequited. Unrequited. Unrequited.

In the same way, love someone wholeheartedly, without expecting anything, and you start to wonder if unrequited even is a thing.

If you love someone–whether he loves you back or not–embrace it. Own it. Cry about it. But choose not to turn it into another sad poem. It doesn’t always have to be another sad poem.

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