Scattered

Sometimes it’s hard for me to figure out what’s bothering me. You’d think I’d know, what with being me and all, but I don’t. Mostly it’s denial. I don’t want this thing to bother me, so I say it doesn’t. I don’t just say that to you, I say it to me, too. I even believe it. But then, despite being perfectly fine, I find myself wanting to cry all the time. This goes against what I’m telling myself, and I become very confused. So I start over.

He has a new girlfriend. This, in itself, doesn’t bother me. I’ve pictured it every way I can, and I still don’t give two shits. But here’s the part that gets me: he sings her the same songs. He tells her the same things. He uses the same words, he gives her the same looks, and he loves her the same way.

I’m not hurt because those things are mine. I’m upset because I’m realizing they never were. It’s like I was never there at all. It’s another person that never really saw me for me, just for the role they needed me to fill at that time.I was interchangeable. I never mattered.

Except that fuck that. I do matter. Maybe not to him. Maybe not to self-serving douchehammers who think that having a significant other means having nothing very significant at all.

I matter to me. I matter to a brilliant, shiny blond boy. For now, that has to be enough. One day, maybe I’ll matter to someone because of exactly who I am, not what I can do for them.

Sadly, patience is not one of my main virtues.

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