You ******* meant something to me.
We flirted and talked and held hands.
I asked you for your number in the cheesiest way.
We ******. And ******. And ******.
You saw my scars and told me about yours.
I wanted to know. I wanted to know all of it.

You whimpered and begged and said my name.
You told me what turned you on.
I tried my hardest to please you.
I WANTED YOU.
I still want you.
Because you meant something to me.

I told you I wanted you.
You said you weren't feeling it.
I tried. And tried. And tried. And cried.
Then you decided you'd rather **** someone else.
My friend.
The one people always choose over me.
I begged her not to *******.
She knew you meant something to me.
It hasn't happened as far as I know. Not yet.

Not yet.
But you haven't asked me in weeks.
You're looking for the one. I thought you were the one.
I'm just not lucky enough to be right.

You ******* meant something to me.
Still mean something to me.
But I wasn't good enough.
******* too.