I wish I took creative writing in High School.
It hurts. She hurts, which makes me hurt, but not for the reason I should. She is in pain, a broken heart, and I do nothing but think of myself. Jealous thoughts stab at me, their icy cold touch spreading like an infection on a gaping wound in the heat of some long forgotten battle, until I forget what I was trying to accomplish in the first place.
Remove yourself from the equation.
Why can’t I do this? I want to make the tears go away, but my words fall on deaf ears. I am not an asshole who pretends to care for his own sick games, no, I won’t fall to that. A friend needs consoling, and I try. I try to be there for her, but her pain hurts me so much my body goes numb.
Why can’t she feel this way for me?
Are they blind? Those who hurt her, do they not see her beauty? Do they not get the shakes just speaking with her? Do their hearts not skip a beat when she walks in the door? She is a daughter, a sister, but this does not spare her the hurt. Pain would be a foreign concept were I in their shoes. A gentleman would be the only thing she would experience; chivalry making the greatest of medieval knights dim and cruel in comparison.
If I give up now, it won’t hurt anymore.
Wow anonymous. Idk who you are, but if you see Carla, tell she can stop stalking me. She just wants me for my body.