Wow.
This isn't funny at all.
I wanted to write something for Martin Luther King Jr. day, yet this really doesn't honour him...
Meh.
He kicks major ass, anyway.
I need sleep, pronto.
Love.
Such a silly word to give someone.
You give them power, a chance to destroy you.
I gave somebody that power.
But she couldn't see me.
She saw only him. He was her life.
He rubbed it in plenty of times. Like acid, he poured it in my eyes. He laughed every single time he saw me.
Him.
He was terrible. I was much better for her. I always would be.
He was cold. I was much warmer.
She needed me more.
He didn't love her.
He never did.
He simply lusted for her.
Lust is often confused with love. Obsession is, too.
He wanted her for the visual things.
Body. Hair. Eyes.
I wanted it for other things.
It. A prize to be possessed.
What are women good for, other then that?
Thousands. Suze had the most adorable slippers, the most beautiful laugh-
And I couldn't touch her. It was as if my hands went directly through her.
And in a way, they did.
Her emerald eyes always passed through me as soon as she glanced at him.
Look at me.
Want me.
Call me.
Touch me, damn it.
She can't.
I doubt she even wants me.
It's unrequited.
It's a terrible fate thrown on my shoulders.
But I can't escape it.
Do I even want to?
No.
I don't want to.
I don't even think I can.
I love her.
But what good is love if she can't even fucking see you?
Mi querida, te amo.
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Love me.
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