I can feel it again. The little tingling feeling, but now it’s calling for help. Asking for someone for a resurrection, and there’s nothing I can say or do. It’s over. Our tragic Romeo and Juliet cover song has played the last note. She loves him more than her heart beats, and I don’t even know him.
I want a boy that makes me smile and laughs at me just so when I frown he can make my face stretch into the biggest smile this world’s ever seen. I want a cliche love story that’ll sweep me off my feet. I want a boy that actually, for once, feels the same. I want a boy that’s not dating a prettier, smarter, nicer girl and not my friend. I want a boy that will understand this simple complexity that’s me. I want a boy that stands out in the rain with me and watches a chick flick marathon when we’re down with the flu the next day. I
want wanted him.
He’s in love with her. And if it’s not her, then it’s someone else. But if he was with someone else, it wouldn’t hurt this much. Because it’s her, even if I could compare… there’s no chance. She’s my friend and I’m this hideous, horrible, imperfect as you can get girl.
I need someone that I can talk to on the phone at three in the morning, while I sob out every tear behind these glazed over eyes.
There’s no one there anymore. I don’t care if you think I’m some stupid, emo bitch. Maybe I am. But that racing pace of heart just went down to a straight line, just like when I saw you sitting on the bench and making out with her. Just like every time she bitched about you. I didn’t believe you could actually feel your heart break until you started going out with her.
I love No one loves me. I’m ready to start the give up cycle, where we all die to perfectly ordinary common time. What’s wrong with me? Am I really so obviously flawed? Because I feel like the broken mirror that once thought it was great because that’s what everyone was saying, but they were saying it to themselves after all. And finally that perfect one came along and I saw the truth through shattered silver slivers.
It’s time to drop the gun, because you can’t cure this heartache without taking a few bullets.
“There are no raindrops on roses or girls in white dresses.
It’s sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses
At the shade of the sheets before all the stains
And a few more of your least. Favorite. Things.”