I keep telling myself one day the right girl will come, but that's a lie. I don't want any other girl anyways. I can't tell myself I can live without her. I know I love her, so there is no point in trying to lie to myself.
I want the girl that cutely asks my brother, "Whatcha doin'," Sometimes I envy him, and it infuriates me that he is so oblivious. Not once does she ever even think of me the way she does for my step-brother. For just once, I wish one of those whatcha doins was directed at me; I am the man of action after all.