How does that work?
You are important to me.
Quiet, subtle, and clever. You know how to make yourself the center of a room, even if you don’t realize it. You have to be aware of the heads swivelling to look at you,
and it doesn’t affect you. You aren’t afraid to help those that need it. You are a perfect person in almost every respect.
Just looking at you makes me
seethe. It isn’t you. It isn’t your friends, or your boyfriend. You’ve never done anything to me; you’ve never hurt me.
Still, you make me unspeakably angry. My hands clench, my face turns
livid white. I stomp off to homeroom and stew for a while. I snap at people, I turn into a real
asshole.
I spend the day looking for you, hating myself for it, but looking anyway.
The day ends and we walk down the hall.
“Hello.”
“Hey.”
We get to the atrium, off to the buses.
“What happened earlier? You looked really mad.”
“Oh that, it was nothing.”
“Oh.”
We stop by your bus and you turn to
look at me.
“Well, see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah… I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You climb on the bus, I turn away to find my own.
Walking away, you can’t see the
tears in my eyes,
because I love you.