Crushing is the worst.

You probably didn’t sign up to be Cupid’s guinea pig, but there you sit, watching them laugh with your friends, charm your boss, or slay the Instagram Explore Feed, having turned into the real-life heart eye emoji.

Their very presence plays tricks on your heart, mind, and bod. When he looks at you, the butterflies break free from stomach, and often take unauthorized field trips to your chest, arms, and fingers. Her laugh, or even just a crack of her smile, sets you absolutely ablaze. Any amount of prolonged contact with his shining brown eyes shoots lightning down your spine, and you even feel it in your toes. This force is rare and foreign, but it’s got you hooked, and absolutely helpless.

But, alas, these feelings don't hold any real weight to anybody but you, because they’re secretive, and unrequited. This is but a crush. Pity, to contain such passion. And what a waste of perfectly good romance novel material.

You know what I’m talking about. The majority of us have been blessed enough to experience the rare magic which permeates our connection with another human being, whether it’s with the girl next door, a coworker, a cute classmate from across the room, your local barista, or even your best friend.

Crushing is a common and natural human occurrence, but sometimes it can be downright unhealthy. Sometimes you’re terrified of what you’re feeling, and make every effort to make absolute sure that the object of your affections never finds out what they truly mean to you. You know, when you constantly make sure you bounce your eyes when you’ve been staring a tad too long, or even go as far as to hit them with “bud” or “bro” when you’re afraid that they’ve caught scent of your trail.

I would know. I’m the president of the Silent Crushers Club. We meet on Tuesday nights after work in a corner of the public library (sporting our “GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN” teeshirts) to talk about our feelings and cry. Angie brings bundt cake—it’s usually pretty good.

But, why can’t this person find out?

Maybe the person is off limits—they could be with someone else (the Pam to your Jim), there could be workplace relationship restrictions (the Leslie to your Ben), or maybe they live on the other side of the planet with limited means to travel (the Kostas to your Lena—Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, anyone?).

Or, if you’re like me, maybe the person can’t find out because the looming and probable rejection would most likely be the end of your already barely functioning heartbeat as you know it. And, if you’re anything like me, maybe your fear of rejection has surpassed crippling—maybe it’s gotten to the point where it’s consuming.

Maybe he’s out of your league. Maybe you can’t be what she needs right now.

But maybe maybes are stupid.

Rejection won’t actually kill you. Perhaps it’s even the better route—knowing is better than having it slip through your fingers.

And if you were to go for it, and have it end with a kiss in the pouring rain and an eventual trip down the aisle—wow. What a reward. And what a story to tell your grandkids.

As a wise young woman once sang, “If you want to find the honey, you can’t be scared of the bees.” I’ve never been stung, but it can’t hurt that bad, right?