He doesn't realize how much I love him. I would defy StarClan to be with him, even if he wouldn't do the same for me.
He still loves her. Every cat knows that they can't be together, but I've heard him at night, mewing her name as I watch him. "Leafpool, Leafpool," he'll say, and I try to ignore it. I really do try, but it's just so hard.
Kits and apprentices believe that, if you're some cat's mate, the two of you must love each other more than anything, even more than your kits. Part of me wants to burst their little bubble of obliviousness. The other part wishes that it were true.
Crowfeather doesn't even love his own kit. Breezepaw knows it. Neither one has said anything about it, but you can see it in their eyes. You can see their feelings. Crowfeather's annoyance, Breezepaw's respect, and their mutual tolerance shine through their eyes like all of Silverpelt.
He's perfect. The way walks and talks is perfect; he's stunningly handsome as well. He has no flaws that I can see. I've been told that I just don't want to see his flaws, but I'm certain that he has none.
She's perfect too. She is sweet, gentle, kind, and beautiful. I'm bitter, jealous, and not much to look at. I'm flawed. She isn't. He isn't. They're both perfect. It's as though StarClan wants them to be together.
I wish he wouldn't lie that he loves me. I'm not a fool. I see how he looks at her during Gatherings, even if his words say something else.
I'm barely holding onto my sanity. I want to yowl my feelings to every cat that has ever lived, whether they care or not. I want to dig my claws into her skin. I want to make Crowfeather really love me. I want to see how she likes feeling rejected by my only light in this dark, dark world. But I can't do any of those things.
I know he doesn't love me. But it can't hurt to try to change his mind.