I hate how much I let you affect me. Here I am, sitting in a coffeeshop across from my sister because I can’t stand being home. There, I wait and I hope and I wish that you would pick up your goddamned phone and message me. I wait and I hope and I wish that you would tell me pretty things, that you’re all mine. I wait and I hope and I wish for something that comes once in a blue moon.
Even now, after I’ve decided to give up on you, I’m waiting. I keep checking my phone every twenty minutes, hoping I’d see your name pop up on my screen and we can talk and laugh and just be together. But you won’t. I’ve known you for about a month now, but I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than that. You won’t message me.
It’s okay, though. I’ll be okay. I’ll stop crying. I’ll get my work done. I’ll distract myself from thoughts of you. I’ll be as good as new. Just you wait.