Nothing sucks quite as much as that moment of realization. The realization that I’m stuck in this endless cycle of never being good enough. Talk to me every day for a while and tell me you like me, but never enough.
Never enough to want anything more than just to fuck me a few times. Never enough to want to do all the stupid cutesy shit I claim to hate but secretly love. I’m not the girl you take home to your parents or introduce to your friends, and if you do we’re just friends and nothing more.
We’ll never be more, because I’m not the girl you want to put a label on. I’m the girl you blow off because your friends hit you up with better plans last minute, even though we’ve had this plan for a week and you said you’d pick me up in half an hour.
I’m the one who fills the void until a better girl comes along, someone you actually have a spark with, who’ll make you want to be in a relationship with even when you told me all along how you weren’t ready for one because of all your issues.
Am I okay with it? No, but each time I tell myself that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different. This time I’ll be enough for someone. For someone to love me, or get even slightly close to it, but they never do and the next probably won’t either. It’s ok I guess. I mean…. it’s not, but I don’t love me either why would I expect you to?
And though I tell myself I shouldn’t expect you to, I still do and I just end up hurting myself in the process. Because I expect and I hope that things won’t be the same this time around. That things are actually going somewhere this time.
That I’m not just going to be left with countless hours of conversations I’ll eventually end up agonizing over, trying to figure out what I could have done differently and where things went wrong. Or left with your deepest fears, and favorite movies, all the little things I picked up on about you along the way, that someone else will be learning about you some day too. Things I’ll have to carry with me and be reminded of, stored away filed deep inside my brain with rest of the almosts in my life.
Because I am not the one, I am never the one.