• one day you’re perched upon my doorstep.
    The next few days I wait for your appearance.
    But that doorstep remains empty, untouched, blank.
    When you do show up again, harsh words, and bickering moments is the first thing to happen.
    It’ll drag on through the night and it won’t end till the wee hours of the morning, till the dawn is close to waking.
    Is it all just a fantasy, one that I want so bad.
    Two years I wept alone, I slept alone, I dreamt alone.
    Will you be my pair, my partner.
    At least for a little while.
    Or will your run, and run fast away from what all others have instantly rejected.

    Me.

    The increasing drum line that plays within my ears won’t pause, it’s gains momentum, keeps going.
    Rolls over and picks up again, just like our disagreements, our little fights.
    We fight over things that shouldn’t matter, the tiny little things that don’t matter.
    And eventually those things that don’t matter, that we fight over.
    That hold no meaning, those little things will tear us apart from the bone.

    Should I be graded, shall I be tested.
    Is there a standard I have to meet, that apparently I’m not.
    Can’t you tell me what I’m supposed to do, tell me what you want.
    Tell me how to make it better, perfect, just right for you.

    More times then not I feel the burn beneath my eyelids, but no tears fall.
    They stay locked within the thin fleshy walls, but oh how they ache for freedom.
    I missed you, I miss you, I want you by my side right now.
    But do you want to be there?
    Will you stay there?
    Or is this just a pit stop to grab some candy and soda, before launching again.
    Am I just a mid highway snack while your drive onto bigger and better things.
    I know I’m not perfect.
    but I can't honestly be that bad.

    But I’ll just pull you up out of my memories, and put a little grin on my face, nod my head yes to a question I haven’t even listened to.
    Smile and walk on through life like I’ve already done it once and aced it.
    I’ll get an A in every class, I’ll graduate high school on time, I’ll never skip a class.

    And the beat, the drum line, will fade out to a faint tap.
    Until I’ve completely drowned it out with fake applause.

    Did you really like me that much?
    Or at all… I wonder.

    Again, I’ll say, like I have before.

    Why would you like me in the first place?
    Why would you like me at all.
    What’s the point?
    What is there to like?