My love for you is scary. I live in fear of your betrayal, my loss, and utter heartbreak.
I had always hoped you needed me the way I needed you--that you were capable of reciprocation. That you could love me back, and mean it. I watched you with undying hope; an unflagging faith in my power to elicit your unconditional love, your friendship.
I still love you through your failure. I've come to know your disappointment, though I begin to wonder: where does it become a detriment to me? At what point does my love for you entangle my despair and a growing self-loathing? You are both my biggest hope and worst fear. A complicated imbroglio of my confusion.
But my hope lives on, eternal in its patience, and I will never turn away from you. That is my love. I can't help it.
