The little things I do I think of you.
I want you to see my actions.
My outfits.
The way I talk.
I invest too much thought.
Too much time.
Too much effort into you.
Still I know we are nothing,
Nothing more,
Nothing special.
I wait on you.
I watch your actions.
I analyze them,
as if they were meant for me.
I know I'm not good enough for you.
But every so often you do something that gives me hope.
Then quickly I am put me back into my place.
And yet it all starts over again.
Like
Share
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.