There were once two people, a boy and a girl. The boy loved the girl, and he missed her every minute of the day. He tried to express his love for the girl, but she wrote it off as mere playfulness. The boy knew not how to convey his feelings, so he became silent. Forever. And as a result, they never came to be. And they boy couldn't tell if the latter outcome, being after he confesses his feelings, would be any better than this? It's so disheartening. Depressing. But what can he do? Hug her? Hold her hand? Ask her to dance? Will he come across as weird? Stupid? Desperate? He knows not, so he silently observes from afar, pondering, his heart wilting and withering like a rose left out in the cold, bitter snow. His lungs fill with ice, and his veins with frost, until he is little more than nothing. Insignificant, loveless, and utterly alone. And the irony of it all, is that if he had only told her his feelings, she would have loved him back. But, alas, he is nothing, she is nothing, but she is his everything.