I feel so gay yet not gay

It’s so stupid how much I care about her. Like, she’s just my best friend, right? That’s the line. That’s what I’m supposed to be content with. But then I spiral—am I even her best anything? Or am I just a placeholder, someone she hangs around with until someone else shows up?

I hate how every little thing she does feels so damn significant to me. The way she laughs, the way she says my name, even the way she texts me first sometimes—it all gets stuck in my head like proof that I matter. But then I remember I’m probably just another person in her life. Not special. Not unforgettable. Just… there.

And I can’t even say any of this to her. I can’t risk it. Because if I’m wrong—if she doesn’t see me the way I see her—I’ll lose the one thing I do have. And god, that terrifies me. So I stay quiet. I swallow it all down and smile and laugh and play the role of the best friend, when deep down I just want to know if I actually mean something to her. Like really mean something.

And the worst part? I don’t think I’ll ever know.