My great consuming love

I’m in my fourth year of college now, still holding onto a crush that’s lingered for almost five years—long before the world paused for the pandemic. This boy, the one who’s been etched into my heart, has been my friend since high school. I know he’s straight; he had his share of girlfriends back then.

When the pandemic hit, everything felt uncertain, but we found solace in each other. We bonded over our shared love for webtoons and anime, exchanging recommendations and chatting from morning until midnight. Each time his name lit up my screen, I felt butterflies. He made those empty, endless days bearable. He made that summer, trapped and confined, feel just a little warmer. But I always knew my place—just a friend, nothing more.

Now, even as life has moved on and the weight of responsibilities keeps us from talking as much, we still share those small, familiar moments: a TikTok video here, a webtoon discussion there. But the feelings haven’t changed. They’re still there, quietly lingering, a dull ache I can’t shake.

I love him, truly, but it hurts. I’ve tried to let go, to free myself from this silent longing, but I can’t. No matter how hard I try, I’m tethered to him. I can’t fall in love with my friend; I can’t confess either. I don’t want to lose what we have, this fragile, precious connection. So I stay here, caught in the in-between, hurting in silence, afraid of burdening him with the weight of my unspoken heart.