The more I over-think it, the more I wish that I had never met you. I wish I glanced away and that you didn’t say hello. I wish I didn’t wish you’d message me. I wish you didn’t ask to see me. And I wish we never saw the monkeys and blew bubbles at the park, or that we sat and talked and did nothing but rip coffee sleeves into bits and sprinkle them all over each other’s clothes. I wish you talked about big ideas, big plans and things that make you think. You can tell a good story, I give you that, and it’s true, you can do a convincing accent, but I wish there was more to you than that- I wanted you to make me think. I wish I felt warm when you held my hand and shielded me from the cold with your arm slung around me. At first I felt nothing. I was there and not there at the same time and I knew it wasn’t right. And then you (or was it the idea of you? I still don’t know) became comforting and I became selfish. I should’ve ended it then. Should’ve but didn’t.
Since I still want more and it’s an impossible situation, I just wish you weren’t so persistent. I wish you didn’t think I was worth trying for. Because I’m too nice to nice people (I can’t help it) and I’m not good at saying “no”, and I hate disappointments but hate being one more. In a warped way, I would have more control if you didn’t spare me a moment. I’m used to running after things that won’t stay. If you didn’t want me, I’d be free, because there’s only one way I know how to act when you’ve given me trust (no matter how undeserved).
You make me smile but I’m not happy enough. I make you smile and that’s enough for now.
At least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.