Why we stare

I guess we were friends once, but it's like I have to pry those memories out with a crowbar, beating them back into the surface of my mind with fists and threats. Like they've long ago decided to hide in the back of my mind, like frightened deer charging off into the night after a frozen moment in the headlights, chewing the grass of my emotion as they go.
There's so much that seperates us, that I know better than anything. We're plagued by an unending, confusing adoration, and the cold inability to understand each other. We're too different. Much, much, too different. Stars on the opposite ends of the galaxy.
I don't think I'd be happier if, by some miracle, him and I were together. Swinging our arms down the hall like the rest of the couples, like ropes connected by one big knot of fingers. Giving an occasional embrace or peck before class, my smile beaming at each of his words. No. There's a difference between all the other teenage romances and whatever him and I are trapped in. That is, that they at least they all live in the same God damn realm.
I'm supposed to hate him, but I don't. From what I know of love, I love him. And, going by the staring and show-off way he acts around me, it's probably returned. I do love him. I've never doubted that. But, oh God, I wish he didn't exist.