I feel like I've always been this bus stop full of people at rush hour that eventually grows desolate once midnight rolls in with only sidewalk lights to watch my back. It's always been this way; I've always been like this. Perhaps this is an epic where I am the heroine, and this is my tragic flaw.
The thing is I am but rotten meat; mostly disliked, partly chomped by garbage flies. I am a complete mess, a disoriented ant, and a treehouse maiden. I really am an old, weary carousel—not even an antique—I keep on turning, my head is spinning. I feel like dying but I also have to keep on breathing.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've always been a little less than a what if, almost there but I gave up halfway, the unused journals, and unread books. I should've known better than to say goodbye. I've never been good enough and you've always been more than enough. You like her, I like you but we are never bound for each other and it occurred to me, that despite how many times I hope and wish, we will never happen.
Maybe we aren't worth the could-have-been, and I think that's alright. The mere idea of your forever and my never was great. Perhaps this really is the beginning of our never after although the truth is told, I knew, ever since we met. I knew, I always knew that we'll forever be a "could have been" but never a "will."
