She sees everything you want to be and mostly that's too much for you. No matter what you do she will not see the real you – only her glorified vision. You can never live up to that and it hurts. Hurts to think of your inadequacy, of the fact that you will never grow into the man she thinks you are. Maybe, you think, it will only take time. With time she will see you as you are – but you have given her time and space and built awkward emotions in the middle of you both but it has not been enough.
She still has you on a pedestal – it's the only way she knows.
All her life she too has been on a pedestal and she's lonely – all she wants is for you to join her there and you wish with all your heart that you could. Not because you love her, but because you want to love her so much more than anyone knows. You want to be able to rearrange her until she works again. She would be pretty and perfect and she would never, ever leave you. That you are certain of – she's too afraid of being alone.
She thinks that you're the same – both misunderstood and motherless. But she chooses the path that you are pushed down and she will never see the marks you left, digging your heels in, clawing at the ground. You wish she would. You wish she would see the real you and still want to stay but you know – deep in your heart – that nobody will ever do that. Some days you wake up and think that he could, with his understanding fingers and soft, brown eyes – but you know that is just and after-dark dream. He thinks you are his superhero. It is not – nor ever will be – real, and that makes you grit your teeth a little harder.
He wants you and she wants you and what nobody realises is that you don't want to be wanted. You want to be loved. And as you climb down from your pedestal and take off your cape your mind wanders and your legs wander and you find yourself on a curb with a girl who has warm brown eyes and soft brown hair and she just wants to be loved too.
Like you she never chose the path she is being dragged down and like you she never chose to be motherless. But like you she is and she is helpless about it. And her mouth is sad and tired and her fingers cold and wary. And you feel like you know her much more than you do as the two of you share a cigarette and your heartbreak.
And she doesn't love you – yet – but she can see the real you and she is still sitting next to you, touching you, breathing you. She sees everything you are and you are everything she wants you to be.
