outside, the streets are too cold and white to put her foot down firmly and wander them in search of what it is that's gone off and left a hole in her throat. the sun pours in on the coffee stained mattress on the floor. in the one bit of shadow left on the bed made for a queen he's contorted himself into a snoring baby, turned and twisted to keep the sun out of his eyes; turned and twisted away from her. she watches his skin softly move with each breath under the grayish sheet they slept under last night. a smile's on his face but she knows it's not for her. she pretends, but she knows there's someone else he would have rather been with last night, but didn't have the heart to break hers. she's an outsider watching him, watching her life that seems to have all the answers to everyone and anyone who looks upon it, not too close so as not to see the cracks and shit smears.
they say "you got it pretty good, kid."
they say "everyone loves you," in that way that doesn't particularly include them.
so what if they do?
if everyone in the world loved one person, but nobody told that one person, then that person would die alone.
what's worse?
to be shown that you are loved unconditionally by one person who loves other people as well, or for everyone to secretly love you, while their feeling you will never know?
