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  • dearabi

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I can’t tell her how I can’t stop thinking about you. Because it’s 3:52am. She’s going through things of her own, and could use a good night’s sleep. Believe me, I know.

I can’t tell her how much it hurts, because she barely has time for herself. Between this and that, and that and this. Then a little more? There’s just no time for her to know.

And I can’t tell him how I cry, because he just doest n’t. That I get it. He doesn’t get that the heart has no chance against the mind either.

I can’t tell her how lonely I am, because I don’t need to. She sees me every fucking day, and unsuccessfully finds things and ways to fill the hollow in my heart.

I don’t even want to tell him how much I like you. Because honestly? He doesn’t care.

I can’t tell her the story of us. Because. Well, no one’s actually supposed to know about us. I never said anything, but that kind of hurts too.

And I definitely can’t tell you. How I see it, but don’t see it. How unworthy I feel of the chance you never gave me. Or why I can’t understand how this happened, but knew it would all along.

So I’ll tell the world instead. I miss him. The texts convos about nothing. The silence that doesn’t matter. And his arm around my waist at night. I miss him. I miss him. I miss him. And even though she has other things going on. Even though she doesn’t have time, and even though he doesn’t get it. Even though you’re tired of hearing it, you don’t care, and you have no idea what’s going on. Even though it’s probably the last thing you want to hear, and the last thing that will push you away. I still hope the world will relay the message, and let you know how that I, miss you.

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