i've picked apart myself
the pieces that make sense
looking through a rose-tinted lense
of being content
i'll walk behind them
my friends who dance
along the lines of more than friends
and i'll clap and smile
i'll keep tabs on them
their pinkies intertwined
awkward and flushed, i laugh at their faces
as i feel a pang in my chest
these glasses are broken
maybe, i ask myself
i don't need it, i say
but i know inside that
i will always wonder what it's like
i'm at the end of the bridge
steps slow and quiet
to not make a sound
i give them privacy
as they share a kiss
tender and discreet
discreetly, i sigh
i'm at the bridge's end and they've walked past me
but i lean against the railing and think
"when will i?"
i remember entering highschool with a vague idea about teenage romance, and how much i never really understood what that meant. but as i grew older and progressed further into highschool hell, watching friends of mine grow closer to something more than friends, i began to understand little by little just from observations. i became some sort of a wingman figure, the person they went to for some much needed advice even though i never experienced anything of the sort, all while feeling a weird type of pain in my chest whenever they did. it was only until a classmate of mine told me how confused and shocked they were when i told them i've never been in a relationship before that i realised the pang in my chest was jealousy. now i'm nearly 18, nearing the end of my teenage years with no experience in my belt writing about love and romance without knowing what i'm actually writing. i know i'm still young and i still have much ahead of me, but it's still something that i think about alot.
here's to all the thirdwheels <3 cheers and happy new year!
