I arrive early, hoping that I’ll bump into you.
I walk slowly, hoping you’ll catch up with me.
I linger awkwardly, hoping you’ll come over to me.
I wonder if you’re doing the same.
I’ll go to all the places I know you’re going to be.
I wear all the clothes I know you’re going to like
I wear the lipstick that I know drives you crazy. The perfume too.
I talk to all the people I know you’re going to talk to. I ask them how you are.
I post all of those pictures, knowing that you’re going to see them. It’s my way of letting you know I’m still here.
You’re smart. How have you not gathered that? How have you seriously not realised that everything I do is for you?
I do it because I want to get back into your head. I want to remind you that I haven’t gone anywhere. I never stop thinking about you.
Not that I haven’t tried. I’ve tried really hard. I’ve wished the thoughts of you away a million times, but it’s never done me any good. I still miss you.
Not talking to you is killing me.
I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet. To me, it’s obvious. It’s always been obvious.
Me and you? We belong together.
But we’re being destroyed by our own stubbornness. Neither of us wants to make the first move.
That’s silly. We shouldn’t be playing these games. We only hurting ourselves. We are settling for a life of misery, when we could be having that sparkling life we’ve both thought about.
Let’s face it; it’s not complicated. It’s really quite simple. I know it’s always been you, and you know it’s always been me.
So we should just do it. We should just run into each other, and say everything we need to hear. It’s not hard. It’s only the truth.
Or at least that’s the version of the truth I keep telling myself.
The real truth is, I miss you but you don’t really care about me. Not even a little.
I wish I could forget you now.