You Belong With Me

It hurts me to see you like this, to see you unhappy, to see that hurt in those soulful brown eyes. It’s like a kick in the gut, a visceral pain that I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try to distract myself with meaningless thoughts.

I see you sitting at the table in the lobby with her, your gaze occasionally shifting towards my seat on the couch, but I pretend not to see you glancing my way. Instead, I’m trying to focus in on your friend, help him out with his love life. If I can’t be with someone, maybe at least I can help him win this girl over.

Eyes narrow in on his features: hazel eyes, bronzed skin, perfectly tousled waves. I need to find an aspect of him that makes me feel something, anything. Though he’s drop-dead gorgeous, there’s nothing about him that makes me feel that weightless sensation of falling. He doesn’t make my heart race in my chest like even the flittering thought of you does.

And I’m frustrated because I’m not sure of what I’m feeling. They say that jealousy is this green-eyed monster, but I can’t say that’s how I feel. I don’t envy her, I’ve always been perfectly happy with the person I am and the way I choose to live my life, but I don’t like how she treats you.

Blank stare, jaws locked firmly in place, expressionless: a perfect wax statue.

I’m staring at you while I’m spouting off advice to him, and I can hear the words falling from my lips, so calm and rational. I wish I could take my own advice for once.

It hurts because I know that you want me, but I can’t give you what you need, so you fill that void with the first girl that tries to throw herself at you. But you’re still hollow, I can see it in your eyes. You’re drowning in glazed-over pools of coffee-brown.

I’d lie if only it would free you from her cherry-red manicured grasp, I’d pretend to love you in that way if only for your own sake, but then we’d be right back where we’d started.

As I shake my bangs from my eyes, the notion dissipates. Plaster a smile, listen to James. He probably knows that I’m not paying attention because I haven’t responded to any of his cheesy date suggestions.

It’s so hard to focus when I can feel you in the air around me like static electricity on a cold morning or the fog on my windshield right before the rain.

I guess this all boils down to three simple words. No, not the ones that are said far too often to truly mean anything. Not the ones the people seem to build their whole world around in hopes of hearing.

I miss you.

There, I said it. Well, in my thoughts.

I miss the way things used to be before our foolish teenage hormones got in the way. Before you tried to kiss me. Before I ran away. Before my mind started playing tricks on me, my subconscious teeming with still-frame images of your face, trying to convince me of the emotion I refuse to acknowledge.

I’m just a girl with a drawl that tugs at the last syllable of your name, as if that’ll keep you around longer.