sometimes i wonder if he ever thought of me.
i wonder if he ever saw me as more than her best friend,
if he ever wanted to talk about books with me
and tell me that i was not nothing.
i don't think he ever did,
and that's okay.
it doesn't hurt anymore.
it just feels a little bittersweet and wistful.
i wish for golden times that are long gone,
that never really existed.
sometimes i wonder if she ever thinks of me.
i wonder if she ever sees me as more than a friend,
more than just another flute player,
more than just a harry potter fan.
if she ever stays up all night arguing with herself
about her sexuality.
if she ever tries to put words to the storm that i am, if i ever inspire her to write poetry.
i know she never did, and never will think of me.
it's a little better this time.
at least she didn't fall in love with my best friend.
at least it's that she's straight, and not that she picked another girl over me. at least i don't feel worthless.
but she left her fingerprints on my heart, and no matter how much i try to rub them off, i will never be completely clean.
sometimes i wonder if she ever thinks of me.
i wonder if she worries about me the way i worry about her,
if she would give up the person she likes just so i can be happy.
if she would die for me unquestionably, the way i would for her.
she's the one person i can count on to choose me— not as a second, not out of pity, but because she truly likes me for me.
she's my best friend, and i would do anything for her.
sometimes i wonder if she'd do anything for me.
sometimes i wonder if he still thinks of me.
(if my friend's right and he ever did in the first place.)
(which is doubtful.)
(and even if that's true, he doesn't like me that way anymore.)
apparently he used to stare at me during history. i don't know if that's true. and if it is, it doesn't mean that he actually liked me. because it just feels so impossible, that anyone would ever like me in that way. why would they, especially since i'm next to her? everyone likes her. how could they not like her? she's the best. i love her. and she is easy to love. i suppose i cannot fault anyone for that.
sometimes i wonder if he might have been the one to try to write poetry about me.
because...
i want someone to write poetry about me.
i want someone who likes to listen to be rattle on about books.
i want someone to be charmed by my awkwardness,
to compare my hair to the midnight sky.
i want a great love story.
but i refuse to take chances.
and sometimes i'm not even sure i want love at all.
i've never kissed anyone. i've never been missed. and sometimes i want that so badly that i feel like i might burst. but sometimes it terrifies me so much that i want to swear off love forever. the thought of actually kissing someone freaks me out still. and i'm just a contradiction, i know.
but sometimes i wonder...
if there is anyone out there, somewhere... who might possibly ever think of me.
YOU ARE READING
Raging Storm
Poetry{a storm may last a moment but a moment is all it takes} raindrops can be hurricanes, too. all raindrops end up in the ocean eventually, though. but we will rise again, learn to breathe again, because broken doesn't mean weak. A collection of poems...
