There he is.
God, he looks like a dork.
Not *my dork, no.
Far from it, actually.
He’s just a dork
who just so happens
to dribble my heart around
in his rough, warm hands
without even realizing it.

There he is.
Oh, ****. He’s smiling my way.
Wait, wait, no.
His eyes so brown,
so ******* brown,
aren’t on me.
I turn around.

There she is.
She’s waving him over.
Oh.
Her.
She’s nice.
They’d make a cute couple,
now that I think about it.
The thought makes my stomach flip
like some sort of surprised pancake.

It hurts.
But after the first hundred times,
you get used to disappointment.
You accept it like a champ,
accepting the fact
that he’s someone else’s dork.