“He doesn’t even like me anymore, I doubt we’re still friends,” She told me, but after that I blocked her out. Does she know how completely lucky she is? How lucky she is to have someone that cares for her and she can disagree with? I don’t even think she realizes what she’s saying. She could have any guy in this school if she stopped dwelling on the past and used her time to learn how to be independent, because I don’t think she knows how.

She always needs a man, always needs a shoulder to cry on, always needs someone to listen to her problems, always needs something she doesn’t have. She doesn’t get that my smile is forced when I speak to her. She just doesn’t get it. Does she always have to be something she’s not? I don’t think so because she knows who she is, and so do I.

She’s needy.

She’s whiny.

She’s sad.

She’s depressed.

Then she’s happy.

She’s scared.

But of what?

She’s mad.

She’s naïve.

She’s kind.

She’s my best friend.

This is why I am forced to listen to her problems. Does anybody see that I am things too? Does anybody see that I need a shoulder to cry on? Does anybody realize who I am? I know she does, she just pushes the feeling away in order to vent her problems. But I am things too.

I’m friendly.

I’m kind.

I’m supportive.

I’m respectful.

I’m reserved.

I’m sad.

I’m pushed aside.

I’m nothing.

I’m dust.

I’m a speck of dust.

I’m oblivion.

I’m see through, like air only less important.

I’m a best friend.

Is this why no one listens? Maybe I need to become more, more of who I am. But I can’t, because I don’t know where to start becoming human.


“Are you listening?” She asks.

“No.”