I just want to be you. My life has no meaning while being defined by yours. I have possessions of my own, but none makes sense except it's like yours.
I look at you from afar, admiring the way you smile, you act and you live. I love the way you carry yourself. Everything about you just seems perfect. The way your jeans fit tightly and perfectly on your skin makes you look gorgeous. Your shirts fits nicely as well reflecting your stunning body frame and sexy packs, a body build I could only desire and wish for.
It's not jealousy; all I want, is to be happy just like you. Have stuffs like you that will make me feel fulfilled and satisfied. I just want to be happy like you; is that too much to ask?
YOU ARE READING
Tales Of A Depressed Teen
RandomShort Stories. In between are poems. Random thoughts about the misconceived ideas people have towards me. I'm not happy, I'm just smiling. Plastic smiles always worn outside. Behind doors, it's me, myself and I battling with depression.
