Why do you waste your time with her? Why don't you give me the time of day? Why aren't you sweet with me? Why don't you ask if I'm okay? These the questions I want to ask, but I don't. I'm afraid of the truth, or maybe I already know it. That I don't mean anything to you. I'm an extra in your movie, but your my costar in mine. Most of the story plays in my head.
Why do I waste my time with you? Why do you torment my mind where I can't focus? What's he doing? I wonder if it's one of those days for him. I wonder if I can make him smile again? Will he laugh at my joke? Text me when he's upset? He will text me when he's sad, but it's about her, of course. When isn't it?
"Look how sweet I am to her," you show me the messages you two share. Your words are sugar and hers ate ice. Cold— and they don't last long.
Text me when your home?
You okay, love?
Home. Fine.
I love you, you know that right?
I know.
Imagine if I had her phone? What'd I say? Things you deserved to hear. What you've been yearning to hear all year since your obsession with her started.
It's funny to think that you only see us as friends, and I don't. Because you think I do, and that's the scary part. I don't know how to show you affection without trying to hold your hand out of no where.
We share the same fears, you know? Of being alone. And yet you shame me that it's kind of pathetic I've never been in a relationship.
Why the fuck do I think about you when half the time you make me feel like I'm nothing? Why?
Maybe because I know you're broken, and I think I can fix you, and in the process you can fix me. If only it were that easy.
What if you did know how I felt for you? Would you pity me? Laugh at me? Ignore me? Or will you finally open your eyes and notice the way we are with each other. That the playful fighting is more than just that. That my late night text to you in more than just a friend asking if your okay. Any excuse is made to make contact with you.
Maybe I am pathetic for pining over you. It's a cycle that I endure when I fall for someone. I always say, this is the one that will notice me. This is the guy that is different from the rest, but I don't change and therefore you will not notice me in a way that I would like to be. Will I make my move, or do I wait if you make yours— if you ever thought of me more than just a shoulder to cry on when she won't give you the time of day.
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A/N: if you like this type of writing. Read Cynical. It's more darker stuff that I've made.
