I don't really know why I try anymore.

The long phone calls,
the smiles and laughter,
you telling me how much you love
talking to me.

It burrows deep in my stomach-
the warmth, I mean,
and it begs to be expressed
with a hug
or a kiss
perhaps.

But you're older than I am,
and your laughter makes me feel
important, almost.
You tell me to live each day as if
it were my last
yet you can't see
that it took all my courage to ask you
to that stupid movie thing
at school.

And your voice
makes me smile.

But you want to know something?
I'm tired.
I'm tired of basing my emotions
on how other people think of me
even though somehow
I can't stop it.

So instead,
I'll take your smile,
your laughter,
the other girls whispering to me
"I know he likes you"
and your careful denial,
wrap it all up in shiny paper,
and place it under the Christmas tree
of trying to be
someone you'll want to remember.