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I loved somebody once. Just once. It ended badly. I wasn�t sure at the time whether it was love or not, but when my vision of everything we had was shattered, it was then I realized what a masterpiece it had been. I never knew... I never knew if he loved me or not. I just hoped. I figured he must have loved me... maybe... because I stayed by his side and tried to support him when he needed me, although he never did. And even when�even when he disappeared for a while and came back with beige smudges on his collar and wrinkles in his shirt and an air of indifference, or something else, not really focusing on anything I had to say, even then I loved him. I loved him because he came back, he always came back to me.
Looking back, I still wouldn�t leave him. Those girls just wanted the excitement of him. They didn�t want him, and he knew it. He needed someone to want him. I did that for him. Not that he deserved it, but I wanted to be what he needed. I wanted to try and give someone more than what they deserved.
It ended badly, that�s the easiest way to describe it. Something happened with this other girl he was seeing on the side, anyway he didn�t want any more of it, of her, of me, of life.
I tried to give him what I could, it wasn�t enough. I gave him love he didn�t deserve, I was the one to want him when he needed to be wanted. It didn�t matter. Maybe nothing about me could ever have been enough. |
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