Secret: I’m not telling you

I sit, watching that stupid distracting show, curled into a ball, sitting on a chair that has held me millions of times before. I nibble on the food blandly lying on my plate before me, with a non-existant appetite.

I don’t know what to say to the world, and frankly I just don’t care anymore. permanently on the verge of tears, I stare into nothing, and wonder why I’m not at the dance raging across the quad, why I like the guy who won’t like me back, why the world is so cruel as to make me feel like a completely overspoiled, over-enduldged, luck-ridden person for feeling sorry for myself for these simple everyday occurrences, while people else where suffer much worse.

Today Ryan was arguing with someone who was asking “what aren’t you telling me Ryan?!” over and over again, and he turned to me, and says “Now how do you even begin to answer that question? What aren’t you telling me?”

I’m not telling you that I’m head over heals for you.
I’m not telling you that a single kiss would mean the world.
I’m not telling you that I would give anything just to earnestly look into the vibrant green eyes and see the same feelings I have returned.
I’m not telling you why I always end up by your side
I’m not telling you that I relive that night every single day and ask myself why not?
I’m not telling you that I can’t believe your excuse that I’m too young.
I’m not telling you that when you look at me curiously, and make innuendos, I hope so very much that you mean them.
I’m not telling you the truth, Ryan.

I’m not telling you a hell of a lot.


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