Gentle kisses. Kisses so tender they bring tears to my eyes.
Lonely eyes. Eyes that stare at me, trying to make me understand something you refuse to say.
Just friends. Friends that hold each other in the back seat of a minivan from 1 at night to 6 in the morning. Friends that lace their fingers together and rub their thumbs across each other's skin. Friends that smooth their hands over their hair, that close their eyes and smile at each other's touches.
Pounding hearts. Hearts that yearned to be loved by someone from the past.
High standards. Standards that I can't reach because you still want her.
Self-hatred. Hatred towards myself because I know I'll never be her. Hatred towards myself because I let myself fall for you. Hatred towards myself because I wish you would feel the same.
False hope. Hope that one day you won't miss her, that you'll dream of me instead of her.
Deep guilt. Guilt knowing that I hurt someone to spend that night with you, knowing he would give up his life if it meant making me just a fraction closer to happy.
Dreadful fear. Fear knowing that one day you'll find someone to make you happy and our encounters will have to end.
Sleepless nights. Nights spent wondering how you really see me. Nights spent wondering what girl you're talking to now that I'm gone, and if you think she's better than me.
Unrealistic expectations. Expecting you to one day see just how beautiful I can be. Expecting you to do a big gesture and show me just how much I mean to you.
Shattered reality. Reality knowing it will never happen.
YOU ARE READING
Book Of Roses
Non-FictionI've been creating things since I could pick up a pencil. I've lived a life that's made me question so many things about myself and what's supposed to make up humanity. Integrity. Love. Respect. Loyalty. I'm no saint. I've done my fair share of bad...
