One day I shall submit this to a poetry contest...but for now

This is purely fictional.

And that statement is a lie.

Unrequited Love is such a fancy word. I can't say I've experienced it, but I still like the thought of it. "Unrequited Love."

Unrequited love is a door crack. When winter arrives, the cold wind blows in and nibbles on my toes.
Unrequited love is a sixth grade boy with hair too long that covers his beautiful eyes. The boy with a cheesy, chunky smile and skinny tree limbs. The boy who you helped cheat on that English test, and when you both got back the highest scores, the only feeling was shame.
Unrequited love is attending a funeral for the boy's little brother whom you've never met.
Unrequited love is a heavy heart -- after all, you didn't go for the brother, you went for the boy. You just wanted to see the boy.
Unrequited love is staring at his back when he's in front of you in the classroom line. It's wondering what he ate for dinner last night.
Unrequited love is the stories you told each other. It's the pain transferred when his best friend tells you the boy is not at school because a family member has cancer.
Unrequited love is watching him as he smiles to another girl and sits next to her during the math session. It's challenging him to a game of basketball -- after all, it's the only thing you know.
Unrequited love is thinking about him. Not really thinking about being together, but just wondering Wonder what he's doing.
Unrequited love is bawling your eyes out in the library during recess in front of your three best sixth grade friends because another girl asked him if he liked you, and he said he never did. And then it's denying you never liked him.
Unrequited love is not looking at him anymore and walking down the fifth grade hallway so you will not have to meet his glance.
Unrequited love is awkward air that only you think exists.
Unrequited love is remembering all these things six years later.
Unrequited love is not a longing, not a desire for the spotlight, not even recognition. It's a motion picture. It's a record of the pass, but living and breathing 30 feet away from you. It's watching him through the lens of a camera, snapping away photos not for personal use, but for the school newspaper. But you know you'll have to look through them anyway.
Unrequited love is breakfast on a calm, sunny morning.
Unrequited love is forgetting what he looks like, but remembering his voice. And noticing the change in that voice.
Unrequited love is seeing how his handwriting has not changed at all.
Unrequited love is the moon -- lonely -- sitting in the sky, waiting for sun. Expect sun and moon are rarely seen together, and if they are, never right next to each other.
Unrequited love is a sigh. Not one of frustration, but a meek one that can lull you to sleep.
Unrequited love is writing about him, but not wanting to meet him again.
Unrequited love is bittersweet ice cream on a windy day spent watching the sea and seagulls.  It's a polite Facebook message. It's wondering if you should say hello in the hallway. It's wondering if he will just be a name, just a character reference in past stories. Unrequited love is wondering, not hopeless or hopeful, just a simple wondering.