I've Lost my Value

Those were the beautiful days. However,I was too confused, too young, too inexperienced to recognize the immense amount of perfection placed before me. He watched me in awe. Every simple motion, every common expression, was made beautiful in his eyes. I felt his stare on my skin, my face, and his ears absorbing every word I spoke. He was a sponge with a thirst for one thing... me. I felt unworthy. I wasn't a horrible person, but I also wasn't a perfect glowing goddess floating in a suspension of beauty and grace. No, I was a clutz. I made messes, I was forgetful, I was weird. But he loved it. He not only accepted my quirks, he adored them. Standing above him, between his knees as he sat on a windowsill, I watched his persistant gaze. Those big oceans stared up at me, gleaming with wonder and curiosity. He made me feel completely wanted, adored, loved. I felt like he could watch me forever and be content in searching for a new freckle or a hidden scar. He made me feel like a work of art. Being held to this sort of admiration was a bit awkward. I wanted to be normal to him, his best friend or his equal. Yet, I had been placed on this incredibly high pedestal with no escape route. I could jump, but how dangerous would that be? So, instead I stayed under his heart-shaped magnifying glass, being studied, but respected. In the process, I found it hard to fall for him in return. He was a mystery to me. I needed time. I was curious and he was frustrated. I needed every moment between us to be fused with friendship and a flirtatious connection. Slowly, it happened. I fell for my anxious admirer. Free-falling through clouds and glittery dust only lasted briefly, though, before my carefree journey was met with a concrete floor. I hit bottom. He ignored me, pulled away, turned his back. I was at a loss for words. My chest was suddenly rendered hollow and the butterflies in my stomach were replaced with the question marks in my head. How could the one person who had ever truly cared, suddenly not? He got what he wanted. Or who knows, maybe he really didn't know what he wanted. Either way, I found him and crawled to him with my scattered heart. I wanted him to fix it. And I wanted to place a claim on his. I wasn't about to let him walk out of my bubble. As far as I was concerned, he WAS my bubble. He made me safe. So how does it feel, months later, when he won't look me in the eyes? When his hands never seem to find me, when his soul is allergic to my presence? Or maybe that is just how I feel. I expect too much, too often.