Eyes of deepest chocolate,
reassuring, comforting, and tender,
looking into mine.
I see him
and for a moment no one else around us exists.
I laugh at his jokes,
and fall in love with his smile,
and I remember things only we know,
things only we do.
And I remember that this is real.
The us when with everyone else isn't.
We constantly hide ourselves
from friends, peers, and parents,
to seem suitable in their eyes.
We constantly try to find a version of ourselves
that everyone else will be happy with.
We sleep instead of living,
because dreams are better than depression,
and something about it seems better than
facing disappointments we already know about.
I don't know what he thinks about,
but I know for a damn fact that it isn't me.
I'm not a love interest,
I'm an effect of falling on the wrong side
of the spectrum.
I don't like it,
but he doesn't like me,
so I guess we both have something.
