I cried on the way home from you. I'm empty, yet tears still are held in when I am with you. I step away and I begin to empty again. There is so much more for me to discover about you. But the wall between us is so high. And I can't feel your affection through it, and I can't see how you feel about me.
It's at night that I think. I look objectively at the day, and try to see life for what it really is, not just how I feel about it. You hardly talked to me today. I don't know how, but your life seems to wear you out. I wonder if you want to know about me, how I am, or if you care about how fucked up my mind is. I think, maybe tomorrow he will try to be with me, maybe make a special plan, or ask me about my childhood. He doesn't. I envision conversations in my head of me telling him these things. I don't speak for fear of not being cared about. Then the tears.
I look at your silhouette. I want to touch you and feel your warmth, to rub my fingers over your thin frame. I smile at your presence, blushing as I think of me staring at you. You feel blank and cool towards me, fleeting from my touch. I'd very much like to fall in love one day. Whether it is with you I don't know; but if this is how love starts, I am very confused.
I need to tell you all these things. But I am afraid I don't mean enough to you. When I tell you these things you will surely leave me. I don't know if I am ready for that. But you aren't really here anyways, you won't see the aftermath because you don't see the mess thats right in front of you.
I've been convincing myself that my thoughts and insecurities are foolish. I've rethought this, and I find that I am very much justified in my sadness over us. You'll say that you will call, you don't, you say you want to see me, you don't. You don't come to me, I come to you with or without an invitation.
I wish I could be as close to you as your sadness or your exhaustion. I don't think I will replace those things, or fit in between them. I am small, but they are just too big.
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