When I looked into your eyes,
I didn't see myself,
I saw flowers.
And then you looked into mine
and saw only flaws.

I envy the rain,
for it can touch your pretty face,
trace your lips,
and rest upon your skin
ever so gently,
while I was never allowed
to touch you
as intimately as it does.

You never cared,
never tried,
you left me drowning
every time I cried.
Maybe, my tears
were all you could get,
the only way for you
to make me wet.

I wanted you to take me out on a date,
but you said you're too busy,
romanticizing your sadness.
I guess you need that sorrow
to write your music,
just like I needed my heart broken
by you
to write my poetry.

You say you've moved on,
but she has my face,
my hair,
and my snorty laughter.

When I first saw her,
just for a moment,
I thought that she was my long lost twin
and that you found her
just to bring her back to me.

I slip through strangers,
to reach the front row.
On my tiptoes,
I strain to see you,
to catch a glimpse.
I raise my hand,
hoping you'll see me.
"I'm here," I call.
But you don't care,
and I am lost in the crowd.

I was only fourteen,
and you were the first boy
to ever compliment me.
Then I blinked,
and suddenly, I was twenty-four,
and you were the last man
to break my heart.