She moves her head to the right and left,
And the way you see it,
It's all in slow motion.
You tune out of the conversation,
Not that you were quite interested in it in the first place.
You see the tension and awkwardness that drama has brought on.
You don't say anything because you consider yourself a decent person.
The wood adjusts itself as the fire crackles in recognition.
You stare at the flames and think about what it would be like to feel no pain.
You don't feel connected to anyone or anything around you.
You haven't in a very long time.
A laugh from your best friend makes your heart swell,
Even though it doesn't reach your lips enough to form a smile.
Even though what he said wasn't that funny.
She looks at you and instantly thinks something's wrong.
But you just can't feel happy.
Nothing is like it used to be.
He says something to you,
But you shrug it off.
It was just a joke.
You tell yourself to stop being so sensitive.
But you remember he does this all the time.
She asks if something's wrong.
Your first desire is to ignore the question altogether.
But you say, "Of course not,"
And no one notices that you can't feel happiness.
Or that you hate drama.
Or that you hate how your hair smells like smoke after you're around a fire.
Or that the smoke keeps following you and getting into your eyes.
You laugh anyway.
You chime in occasionally anyway.
You'll tell people you had a good time anyway.
Even though you know you didn't.
Even though you know you haven't in a very long time.
And you think, "Two's too many."
