What if I joined the popular squad, or talked like them, will you come back to me?
What if I dressed like them, walked like them, will your heart find its way back here?
Bloody hell, wrote stories and poems for you, but remained anonymous, because what good could it have done knowing it was for you? I wrote way more than enough words for you, but what is enough? Will you ever be able to read them? Will you ever realise that they're all for you? Or will it only push you further away from me?
What if we hadn't reacted the way we had? Would the outcome be different? But, why am I holding onto the past that's never written?
Why do I keep myself overwhelmed with all the could've beens?
I realised I was the only one whom never had a picture, whom your siblings never knew about, whom remained in the dark, kept away in a cupboard far away from your heart.
Why do I feel like an idiot? Why are you not feeling what I feel? Why are you living as though nothing ever happened?
Oh right, because nothing did happen.
This marked the third anniversary. Stay happy, love.
- never.
