Somewhere along the way, you lose sight of who you are.

It doesn't strike you as love, but there's a physical pain in your chest every time you lay eyes on her and you start to wonder. What you always assumed to be infatuation, possibly even a strong lust, may have exceeded your expectations and transformed (slowly, over the years, of course) into something bigger. Something... better?

Love.

Cue the sappy music, the array of cartoon forest animals, and lace doilies. You question the doilies, those odd white pieces that litter your grandmother's house, and their position in every love story. Maybe they show up to distract you from what comes next.

Hurt.

The moment she meets your eyes and a thousand apologetic words drift out into the stiff air between you, only you never really wanted to know the truth behind her tangled excuses. Your words make no sound, and she takes a step backwards, lengthening the quickly-expanding gap between the both of you. If it was her who created it, then you scared her into walking away. If it was you who pushed her to leave, then it was she who took the first step. You watch her go and an ache strangles your heart, screaming in its silent way to go after her, to let her know how you truly feel. There it is again.

Love.

Then hurt.

Then love.

You close your eyes for a heartbeat, pinching your lip between your teeth. It's not raining, but you wish it was, to hide the wet on your cheeks. She hasn't turned back. You haven't stepped forward.

Love.

Then hurt.

Then love.