I’m here, sitting in your room because you keep telling me that what we have is a secret and nobody should know. I like it when you call me your secret, it makes me feel special.
I also like your hair and the sound of your voice. I love how perfectly messy your hair always is. And when you wear that black shirt, it literally makes me weak in my knees. It’s such a disappointment that you never look at me the way I look at you. I wish you would.
We talk, day in and day out, we can’t stop, but its weird how we never talk about me, its always about you. But I don’t mind, I cant get enough of your voice. And, every time I tell you that this is the last time I’m seeing you, you pull me back in with your words as if you exactly know how to make me stay and how to keep me wanting more. So I stay, even though I hate myself more than the last time.
Sometimes you do take me out, hiding from everyone, because I know I can’t be found with you. And when we are with our friends you’re so busy talking to the girls, that you completely forget about me. It reminds me of my dad, cold and distant, right there beside me yet never there, and still I like it. I like how it makes me burn.
So I let it all out, empty threats, spewing poison, I pour my heart out and wish you’d just listen to me once. I’m a mess but I don’t care anymore and neither do you. You just stand there and tell me how crazy I am and how impossible I am to handle. And I believe you, I believe its all my crazy, I believe its all in my head, as it cannot be you. You seem perfect. Its me, who is flawed, has always been. So, I accept defeat and you promise me this is the last time we are fighting, even though we both know it’s not.
But I never learn, because, here I am again, sitting in your room.