How can such a waste of time
Have such a pretty smile
And know just the right things to say
To make my own come out for a while?

There's something about talking until you fall asleep and your arm going numb, but she's too beautiful for you to move it so you deal with the bitter pain of pins and needles, and stroke her hair and kiss her head until she wakes up a little bit after her dream, half asleep, eyes barely open, but just enough for you to move your arm, and a small smile crosses her lips as she recognizes you and you hug her and tell her goodnight. And the morning she looks at you with those fresh new eyes and you know she doesn’t remember that one small moment from the night before, the one small moment you’ll be holding with you forever, flashing through your mind when weeks later she tells you it’s over, that you should take some time alone and that you’ll never have her fall asleep on you again, and you just want to scream “I loved you, I cared for you. I let you sleep on my arm when no one else would, through the hell of pins and needles, and I didn’t even wake you. That’s emotion, that’s devotion!”

But you don’t, because you know she wouldn’t listen anyway, telling you to quiet your writer brain, she doesn’t have time for it today. So she’ll close the door and walk back to her chair returning to the work she was doing before you came to visit, knowing in comfort that she’ll have the entire bed to herself tonight, and you’ll walk home feeling un-whole, alone, like a piece of you will forever be left in Prince 302.

And you’ll fall asleep wishing to suffer the waking pains of pins and needles from a brown haired beauty again. And you'll awake knowing your arm is in a better place.

But your heart is a different story altogether.

I just want you to know
I see you from the inside
And all the ******* and lies
You try your best to deny.

You might be fooling someone,
But not me, not this time.
You might be fooling the next guy,
But you’ll never again catch my eye.

The lone man walks into the night, looking up to the sky and cries
“Stop expecting so much from me, I’m only one life!
Only one mind to work with the complexities you compile!”
To which the stars take lightyears to reply,
“Do not pray to us, we are not your kind.”

Fall is for falling in love
Or so I thought
When I felt your heart beat next to mine,
Our legs tangled, bodies intertwined
And you told me that you loved how the leaves
Turned golden yellow from their vibrant summer greens,
And I told you, under harvest moonlight
"That's just because they're dying."

I’m sorry I have chapped lips. It’s cold out, and they’re from kissing you, at a time when you still wanted to be kissed. It was a long time ago, but know your memory is still missed.

And my crooked smile is not of my own design, but of genetic disrepair and a household too poor to fix such trivial tasks in life. I always thought it was “cute,” or so said you. Plus I always thought it made yours shine.

The sense of not being listened to is a lie, I want you to know. Some form of undiagnosed ADD where I look away when you talk and write stories in my head as I hear every word is what I feel. But I heard it all, every single syllable. And I could recite them all.

I’m sorry my stories are so extravagant, because I’ve always been one for the additives of fiction. Since day one my heart has told me to add more, and sometimes I can’t help but look for the deeper metaphor, even when it’s not there. But I’d stop looking, I swear.

I’m sorry I’m seen as controlling, but my friends all look towards me and thats a hard role to displace when it’s become your everyday life. All I needed was a little more time. And some patience, on your line.

I'm sorry I'm cold at times, with the things I say and the way I seem. It's not always easy being mean.

And I’m sorry I’m so driven to become more than what I’m from, and my dreams lie far beyond the mountains and the clouds above. I can’t help but dream, with the mind I’ve been given and the things I see.

But most of all, I’m sorry none of this was enough for you and me. I'm sorry I couldn't live your dream. I'd be your prince charming if I could have been.

There isn't enough I can say about perseverance and doing what you know is right. It doesn't matter how much you want it, you want her, you want anything.

When you know it's wrong, it's wrong. Even if they define the wrong themselves.

Even if all you wanted was what you had, but for a little longer.

If it's wrong, it's wrong. It's never going to work. Even when you know the wrong is wrong itself.
So you persevere.

The days pass, and she still lives a life you wish more than anything to be a part of. And while your heart breaks even more, more than a split in two, you begin to realize, you're better off. Somehow.

You deserve better, you deserve more. Whether it be someone who's there in the morning or a person to listen to the small thoughts that eat you inside, if they weren't there, they weren't enough. She wasn't enough. You begin to realize this now, because your friends have shown you how.

So you work through it. You persevere.

And in time you realize they weren't the goddess you believed them to be but a human with more flaws than you can count. Their smile shrinks and their belly grows and you begin to see their weaknesses in every way. But you can't hate them, not yet. You want to more than anything, but hatred is an easy out. It's too easy to count.

So you persevere.

And eventually you see them, truly, for who they are. Like you, like your friends, like the family you've grown to love, they are beautifully human. And while you may never wish to speak to them again, you understand they have a heartbeat, they are alive in the rhythm of life. And in that, you are the same. And your friends try to tell you you are better, but you cannot believe them, not any longer.

Your heart may never heal as it should, may never beat as fast as it did with them beside you. You long to kiss their lips, long to hold their hand. And when you see them with another man you feel the world is above you, looking down and laughing.

But you know all this, you've seen all this. You know it gets better, someday, somehow, when you least expect it. You hold your confidence and you hold your dignity. And you refrain from calling them names.

Then the sun rises at the end of the night and you think about all the good times you had, all the memories you shared, and all the memories you could have built together. You begin to tear up inside.

And you persevere.