i keep trying to write about how you and i met but i can never get it right
sometimes i try too hard to describe you that i forget how you look like
and yet i remember the moment we made eye contact so vividly that i still catch my breath

the truth is, we weren't anything and we aren't anything
we kept up with the game of ours though
glancing at each other and looking away when we catch each other staring
i thought that maybe it was just a coincidence or that you were looking at the girl sat behind me
and oh, there were a lot of pretty girls behind me

but one day we were both alone and we were walking home
you smiled at me and i you, like we had an inside joke
your hair was floppy and you had warm and inviting eyes with a lovely smile to match
we were like parallel lines
we could see each other but we couldn't cross each other's paths

then you graduated and i didn't even manage to find out your name
yet i'm still writing about you

caring isn't my first nature, nor is it my second or third
it comes in handy sometimes when i am a balloon and people are trying to burst me
but it works both ways
because it hurts people, you see
my indifference
it cuts them like a hot knife slicing through butter, slicing through their exteriors and wounding their soft insides,
their bones, tendons, ligaments and ribcage can't protect their hearts from my cold touch
and it isn't until everything's done and over with, that i start to care

everyone wants to feel loved, cared for, important
and from me, they want emotions

the prettiest people aren’t the nicest
like that popular girl in class who pretends
to like your clothes or nails or hair
the nicest people aren’t the prettiest
like that “geek” who helps you up
when you trip and fall
while everyone else laughs

maybe once, you did care about what you wore
or how much you ate in a day
but as time passes
you learn that the word “pretty”
is ugly
and all you want is to rid yourself of it