Unrequited.

Sometimes it's nice to speak to someone that you love, that you've always loved, without them actually knowing that you love them.

I can stare at you, wanting you desperately, and you wouldn't have the slightest clue as to what's truly on my mind.

I can caress your skin, feel more than flesh, become intoxicated by the sensuality of your touch and you would merely say, "excuse me,"  not knowing what it is that I feel.

I can spend every hour memorized by you.
Consumed by you.
Overwhelmed.
Infatuated.
Obsessed.
Confused.

And you would never, ever feel for me as I do for you.

Sometimes it's nice...

Most of the time, it hurts like Hell.