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Three O'clock Angst
It's three seventeen in the morning and I just looked through all 318 pictures of you on Facebook. I feel like a stalker but I can't help it, I haven't seen you in two months and I miss the intensity of your eyes. When I see the pictures of you where you smile too wide or pose like you think you're cool, I hit next like the mouse is on fire. I hate you a little then, even though I'm worse than you about being fake. But when you are silly in that perfect real way that I can tell you did not care was on camera, I pause. I see you and I miss you like nothing else I've ever felt before.
The enigmatic maelstrom of emotion you conjure, it's not a storm I can wait out, it's blown my house down and there is nowhere left to hide.
There's one picture of you where you stare just behind the camera, the only serious picture in the entire album. You look almost sad, like everything I know you're hiding is boiling beneath the edges of your eyes. Your eyes are intense no matter what you are doing, but here they are extraordinary. It's painful because it's honest, but beautiful because it's real.
Had that picture been of me I would have deleted it immediately, untagged myself and annoyed whoever posted it until they erased it permanently. For you it is well hidden, the 238th picture, but I am intensely happy it was there to find. I stare at it too long, wishing you could see me back through the screen, and then un-wishing it because I am in sweats and a giant t-shirt, makeup-less, and gruesomely tired. You wouldn't care anyway, you've seen me at my worst and you told me yourself you no longer think of me as a girl.
You meant it to mean we were close, but it stung. When your girlfriend found your phone and saw our texts until two we both explained to her that there was no way, I knew way too much about your weirdness, your insecurities, your problems, for you to ever like me. In your words, "I just knew too much." It would have been easy had I been ugly, but honestly, I'm not at all, so the more suspicious she got, the more I had to swallow my pride for you, let you explain why we talked so much.
Finally, I let you show her the texts we'd sent, every insecurity I'd had laid bare in front of one of the kind of girls that had broken me so badly in the fist place. And I did it for you. To save the relationship I hated with all of my heart. To keep you with the girl that was the cause of half of your insecurity. I don't know at all if it was the right thing to do. But it worked, and though now I have to endure her pity, I no longer have to endure your pain at not having her.
She thinks she is saintly for caring about me, my problems which you gently coaxed or more often caps-lock bugged out of me, but she does not need to know that I have them, and I do not trust her to keep my secrets like I trusted you.
I barely trusted even you, and then it was only because we talked out of desperation, a need to know that there was someone out there like us, someone that smiled constantly but cried when they were alone in hallways, which we gave each other. I had the same amount of your secrets as you had of mine, and I have none of hers, none at all. And you did not pity, you understood and tried to help.
You said the reason you trusted me was that one night when I called you, tried to hide that I was in tears, and told you to put your phone in a closet so I could talk to an open line and feel like someone was listening, when my voice broke and I sobbed for just a moment, you said you heard something of yourself. You kept talking to me even though we didn't know each other that well, perfect for my initial intentions of just asking a stranger a weird request and not caring what they thought about me, because even after I cried, when you told me the first part of all your pain, I cared, and more, I tried to help.
That was why you trusted me, and that is why I love you, for caring. But you're still with your barbie, popular and funny and nice, but to me like a caramel apple- I find that apples are just fine the way they are, without a sugar coat. And so I cannot have you, and talking to you annoys me and hurts me because there are plenty of guys out there that want me, but I always compare them to you and they always fall short.
I cannot have the one person I love more than anything, and all others are ruined by him. And so I sit here, desperately staring at your picture, and wishing you would realize that I am here and I love you...