Thinking inwardly of how silly it had been, given our current circumstances and the trust lost between we two, I told them casually that I’d carried a torch for a while. To look up at their stricken face was beyond surprising, “Oh,” they said, “oh no that would never have happened. I’m so sorry, but I have never thought that way about you.”

That this statement registers unkind was not my first impression. Instead I wondered how this person tends to their own heart. What is a crush if not appreciation, a flutter in the chest, an uncomplicated joy? To what sentiment do we owe an apology? How did they presume I had been injured by not knowing they didn’t share my sweet sentiments?

It has been several months since this conversation took place, and still I wonder. Still I hold cute crushes in my chest, and a singular, deep love in my heart for one I cannot have. None of these are grievances, regardless of the future. They are instead warm, well-lit joys to which I secretly tend, with neither hope nor anguish. Should desire be so painful as to require an apology when unsatisfied? Perhaps the intention was indeed cruel; perhaps patriarchy is to blame. In either case, the flame was long cold before I spoke of it. Only this curious conversation remains.