The untold story

Love is a curse.
It is not always a joyous celebration.
It is not always the mutual union of parties who never wish to be separated,
No.
There is a different side of love;
An untold side,
A side that is swept under the rug,
Pushed into the dark;
Silenced forever.
That is the tale of the unloved lover;
The one doomed to crave the forbidden fruit;
Destined to go unsatisfied forever.
This is my tale.
No amount of time or distance will erase him from my mind;
Or my heart.
And yet he has so easily erased me from his.
I am nothing but a mere overlooked sentence in the novel of his world.
O, how I yearn to once again possess the ease of innocence.
I have searched the glove and yet haven't found it.
I have stretched and stretched out my hand yet I cannot grasp it.
I desperately wish to live that simple existence that seems to alien to me now.
Though, try as I might, I cannot go back,
Instead, I am cursed with the guilt of unspoken words;
Unexpressed emotions.
And due to my foolishness,
My punishment if to forever hold those emotions within the dismal prison of my heart.
I must feel those words forever on my lips,
Tied down,
Never to be released into the air.
I fear falling in love is an irreversible event.
Love is like poison;
Sweet on the lips
But foul on the soul.
Love is like a prison sentence;
Once you're in love,
You're in for life;
Forced to live this pitiful existence through eternity.
Love is an infection.
Why does this infection of the soul eat away at the heart and rot the mind?
Why is such an infection invincible?
And why, then, if such an infection is so painful and parasitic, why do we aimlessly search our entire lives for it?
We crave our own doom.