“I know you don’t love me. I know you don’t think about what it would be like to trace your fingertips along the edge of my jaw and across my eyelids and on the inside of my knee. I know that I think about you as sunlight and that you don’t think about me at all. I know it’s a one-sided kind of love, the kind where you don’t taste acid on your tongue when you see someone’s hand around my own. I know you don’t love me. I know you don’t, but I can’t help the fact that I love you. I love you so much that I slur it in drunken hazes and think about it when I go to sleep. I wish I could press my love into every inch of your skin and bruise it into your heart so that it could beat to the sound of my love, but you’re too out of reach and I’m too hard to love. Please know that I love you more than I can begin to stand. Please let me know if one day you wake up and suddenly see me in a different way. I know you don’t feel me in your bones, but if you ripped my chest open all you’d find is your smile and your eyes and your laugh in the inseam of my heart. You’ll find the love that I possess, and the bleeding cracks from the love that you don’t.”