He's smart, sensitive, passionate, sweet, romantic. He has an amazing sense of humour, he makes me laugh more than anyone. When he's with me, I feel like nothing can touch me, like nothing else matters, it's just us. He can make a terrible day turn into the best day just by saying hello. He is an incredible friend, when I'm sad he is always the first to ask what's wrong. I always lie though, because eighty percent of the time the answer is him. Not that he's done anything wrong- just because he doesn't love me.
That's the only thing I would change about him. That he doesn't love me. I was very naiive to think that just because he used to pick on me meant he liked me. He doesn't go for girls like me. He goes for the obvious beauties. The perfect girls. I guess I'm so perfect that I kind of become, imperfect, because guys don't want Tawni Harts anymore, they want Sonny Monroes. They don't want Princesses, they want the damsel in distress. But they never ever love him like I do, they don't appreciate him like I would. So each time the story goes the same- I help him get together with a girl he likes through gritted teeth, he's happy, so I'm happy, then his relationship faces a problem, the girl dumps him, he cries into my shoulder complaining about how bad his life is and wondering why his relationships end up like that. All I want to do is scream into his ear "Because you keep picking the wrong girl!".
I don't know how long this will last. I don't know if I will continue this unrequited affair forever. I don't know if one day he will turn around and realise I've been the one for him all along, but I do know that the girl who ends up with him, is the luckiest girl in the world.
