I miss you. Far more than you would ever miss me, I’m sure. You see that’s the problem with unrequited love. There’s so much emptiness, nothing. In me, with us. And the worse thing is, I’m always tempted to fill that emptiness with hope rather than pessimism. It’ll happen, I think. Of course it will. One day he’ll confess his love for me, say how he thinks of me all the time. He’ll say how he dreams of holding hands, how he loves to make me laugh, to hear the sound. He’ll look down, his fingers fiddling nervously, and he’ll smile tentatively. Then he’ll say that he didn’t want to ruin anything, but that he could not stand keeping quiet anymore. He’ll say he has to go, and just as he turns around, I’ll spin forward and catch his arm. I’ll gaze into his eyes, things will be perfect. I’d believe in us. But you see, that’s just exactly why this hope is worse than nothing. Because I expected this to happen, because I wished it to, because I wanted, and I believed. And beliefs can break us. I tell myself it’s better to stop this where it is, to lay back and forget about everyone. To let other hearts bleed, since mine’s barely surviving as it is. But then my mind wanders. I mean, if it really could happen, why..I couldn’t be happier. So for now, I’ll keep dreaming. What have I got to lose anyway? Only the pieces of an already broken heart.
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I'll keep dreaming
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