I know you don't like me.

I know even if you did like me,

it wouldn't help,

because I don't like you,

and my best friend does.

But in this moment, in this gloomy room,

I wish that when you asked me to call

it wasn't for the homework you needed to copy.

And when you stopped and grabbed my arm,

it was because I looked pretty,

and not that I was forgetting something.

The thing about break ups is

you hate the person,

you love the person,

you miss the person,

and then, you get over it,

but even once you've done that,

there's no reward for making it out alive,

there's no prince charming waiting with flowers for you to arrive.

All you have is yourself,

and if you're lucky, some semblance of sanity,

but I wish in this moment

you liked me,

enough to make me feel

real again.

Truth is though,

solving my hurt with another's affection

is like trying to dam a drain

by pouring water into it.

I know you don't like me.

I know, you never will.

Because you did, and so much more,

because you loved me once before,

once upon an ending that was happy.

I should have known it was never meant for me.

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