Unrequited love: How do you feel when you love someone who does not love you back? (365 Creative Writing Prompts)
Unrequited love it the topic of many stories, novels, and poems from all periods of writing. Fortunately, I don’t think I have ever felt that way. The man I love has loved me for just as long; prior to that my loves were real, but also shared. Anything prior was a childhood crush, and I honestly don’t remember those feelings – I was too busy playing and reading to care. Below is my attempt at a description for unrequited love.
I stared at him from across the room. Sitting with me were my girlfriends, chatting, snacking, and drinking. They were all fortunate enough to have someone special in their lives, but I still searched for mine. Sure, there had been flings. A date here, an overnight guest there, but nothing lasting. Nothing like the loves – or even one night stands – I read about or saw in the movies. I desperately searched for a man who made my heart race every time I glanced at him, but stopped my heart every time he looked at me; for a gentleman with class, a strong man who could protect, a working man who could provide, a humble man who would support. And of course be gorgeous.
This was that guy. Tall, dark, handsome, just as they say. We worked together, but didn’t interact much. But from our coworkers weekly happy hours, I had learned enough about him to be completely smitten. He was the perfect combination of modest, but confident, hints of self deprecating humor, an adorable, but goofy smile. He was well over 6 feet tall, with an athletic build, little bit of stubble on his chin, and dark hair.
From across the room, I watched him sitting at the bar as I did every week. He and another coworker downed some beer and cheered when their team scored. I wondered who his favorite team was; knowing that could help me start a conversation. My friends were chuckling, I joined in too late and made it awkward. But, my mind was elsewhere: imagining a life with him, pretending to be married, to have children, and then to grow old and gray.
Suddenly, he turned in my direction; he looked right at me. My heart stopped, but he wasn’t looking at me – he was looking through me. A tall, blond bombshell with cleavage twice the amount of mine walked past me and straight to him. Instead of an increased heart rate, my heart dropped. I turned to look at my friend across from me – praying that it looked like I had been watching the game and returned to my conversation. I looked at the window, saw my reflection and faded smile. He welcomed the blonde with a passionate kiss and ordered her a drink. He had the most gorgeous smile and pearly white teeth. He had no clue who I was, or that I was head over heels for him. He had someone – someone of model proportions. I felt myself slipping into ice cold water, everything slowing down, my head spinning. If he only would talk to me, he would realize how perfect we could be. He would leave the blonde for me, but I would never have the guts to go up to him. So here I sit frozen, until the next fling and distraction comes along.