I not only love him for who he is
I love him for the butterflies he gives
For what he has made of himself
For the parts of me he brings out
And all that he makes of me
He unknowingly interrupts my thoughts

I love him for not comparing me to her
But for noticing my unique qualities
For shining a smile upon my face
As he approaches me, my stomach tightens
As he walks away, I begin to miss the anxious pain
He is unaware of the feelings he afflicts upon me

I do not want to begin from someone else’s end
I want us to write our own story
I not only want to love him
Or have him love me
I want us to love each other
And feel the sun’s warmth all around

I admit of failing to do one thing,
And that is to say “I love you”
Despite its obviousness
He feels as if it needs to be said
Words without actions are meaningless
As he continuously shows me

I long for us to share the same desires
At times it feels so real
I cannot seem to make it a lasting reality
As I am rushed with the surrealism of its bliss
I am confused with mixed emotions
Crushed by reality I accept the false moments

My love for him is blinded of his faults
As I am imprisoned by obsessing over my own
I am aware I gain nothing in my meaningless dreams
But it becomes his loss by simply passing up a chance
He was never blinded, but knew no difference
He created his own darkness by refusing to let the light in
If I had only let him walk by
Wrote “the end” and let it die
My love may live only in fairytales
But it lives
To not try would be the worst
To know he is what I desire
And not give in, to wonder.

Has love really moved me at all
Or am I still Anne, as alone as I began