February 20, 2009
He's sitting by himself for once:
Bright orange shirt, dark jeans,
And that curly black hair.
I wouldn't dare walk over there,
Even if I promised myself I would.
Maybe I'm becoming like my family,
My friends, and everyone else.

Making promise I know I won't keep
Just to keep myself from being happy.

It's okay that I've fallen for him;
He's neither the first nor the last
To shatter me against the hard floor of reality.

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