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“Unrequited love: there's no such thing.
If it is unrequited it isn't love, it's expectation [that they should treat you in a certain way].

It's not allowing the relationship to be what it is.
It's not accepting the love in the form in which it actually comes in that relationship as being real enough, as being good enough.

That's the only thing that creates the idea of "unrequited" is you're not really paying attention to what it is, you're only paying attention to what you expect it to be.

[For the person experiencing unrequited love;] the real unrequited love is that they're not loving themselves as much as they could. That's what's unrequited, and they're simply getting a reflection of that.”
― Bashar

“I rather die, than continue to love you. I rather have my last breath, than another thought of you. I rather go blind, than to see you walk away from me, again. Loving you hurts that much.”
― A. Starr

“He became so gloomy that she asked him, at last, if he was worried about anything. He assured her, instantly, that he was the happiest man in the world.
And he was. At times he was almost bewildered by his own bliss in being there, with Tony, so terribly dear, beside him; really his own for the rest of his life. It was not her fault if the insatiable sorrows of an unequal love tormented him, the hungry demand for more, for a fuller return, for a feeling which it was not in her nature to give. As she leaned forward, absorbed in the passions staged beneath her, he felt suddenly that their box contained just himself and a wraith, a ghost; as if the real Antonia, whom he loved, was an imagined woman living only in his sad fancy.”
― Margaret Kennedy, The Constant Nymph