I mean looking at it in a third party perspective, the person I'm in love with isn't a poetic, clever, cunning, handsome being with a beautiful mind and wrong intentions.
He's just a skinny ass guy who likes sports and doesn't consider feelings.
I've turned him into something he very well might not be. This total catch with the grey eyes and the sandy hair. Beautiful hands and the ability to get into my head so damn easily.
Granted, in my eyes, that's all true.
But in his world, he's just a boy. A dude. A tall guy with commitment issues, trying to make friends. Get a number.
In my story, I met him and everything clicked. Got to know him and I fell. Every night is like a dream and every morning is a nightmare. His hands on me, his eyes meet mine. His voice, his thoughts, his ideas. Everything. And it's all a gravitational pull to me, an attempt to knock me off my feet and leave me breathless and broken. It works every time.
To him I'm this girl he met. Someone with an infatuation for understanding people and, damn, I figured him out. I'm second on his list of friends but I can't get a good night text to end a conversation. If I wanted him to fall the way I did, I played my cards wrong from the beginning. I played everything up front, and now I'm dry.
We both hold different stories of each other. And what we mean.
I'm a season, he's my oxygen.
Maybe one day I'll mean something but it'll be too late. When he turns around and realizes what he meant to me I won't be here anymore.
And I can't be angry at him. I tried my hardest to climb the ladder but I wasn't right from the beginning.
So I'll back up. Reboot. Clear. Restart. And try again next year.
Because he'll never be who I see him to be.
But I'll never stop trying to mean something (anything) to him.
