***
11/14/18
____
He stares at his phone.
His hands shake
With nerves
Anticipation
His thumbs raised above the screen
Ready to type
Any reply
Once she sends an answer.
Does this make him desperate?
He wonders to himself,
Noting that it takes her five hours to reply
Whereas he responds within minutes.
Does this make him clingy?
He asks himself.
They aren't an item anyway
Nor will they ever be
As he owns up to his cowardice;
Unprepared for inevitable rejection.
He blinks.
She hasn't replied yet
But he knows she is online.
He knows she must have seen his texts
Does the number make her like him less?
He feels a bit ashamed
At the thought
Of being judged by who he likes.
He frowns as she suddenly posts something on her account
"So bored right now..."
That is the caption
And he feels stupid
Utterly hurt
For thinking
For even hoping
That she would put him
Label him
As part of her list
Of her priorities.
She has a life
And he knows he isn't part of it.
He swipes back to their conversation,
His frown deepening
As he reads past messages
Past talks of trivial things.
He realizes in each and every one of them
In every single one
He is the one who begins the talks
He is the one who reaches out
Otherwise,
He would hear nothing from her.
So elusive
So vague.
And so
Damn
Hurtful.
Maybe he should try
To give her the cold shoulder for a change.
He isn't pleased with the idea
At the thought
Of shunning her.
But he wants her to feel
What he feels everytime they talk
Can't she at least reach out first?
He knows that he is acting like a lovesick puppy
He knows he has been stripped of his dignity
And that is why
That is why he doesn't do it.
He does not mute her
Block her
Delete her
From his phone's existence.
He calls himself weak
As he sends another light message
He calls himself a dumbass
As he smiles when she sends
Only one emoji-- one that laughs through tears.
In response to his rambling.
And he knows he's screwed up
Hours later
When he's
Waiting for her to reply
But she never does.
YOU ARE READING
Neon
Разное(SOMEHOW, REGULAR UPDATES) A collection of poems, short stories in poetic form, rants hidden in poetic form and other things that pop up in my head. *** Staring at the canvas, She chose to pluck a brush From her own head, And paint with the colours...
