She hates me.
She's embarrassed with my presence.
She doesn't try to fix me, because she knows that her efforts are useless.
When we're alone, she looks for an excuse to leave.
She is the roadrunner, I am the coyote.
She is the rare butterfly; I am the hairy black spider.
She is the soft, fluffy, baby lamb, while I'm the vicious lion.
She is the angel, I am the demon.
Why does it have to be this way?
Is it because I'm useless, rude, loud, and disgusting?
Or because I never told her about how I feel?
I am drawn to her.
Her enchanting aura that cheers up everyone, her flowing brown hair, her beautiful voice.
I'm in a whole other world.
I can't compete with her.
I'm struggling, I'm weak, unworthy.
The only things I'm good at are starting fights and shooting guns.
My dream is to have her in my arms, I kiss her lips tender and gently.
She gives me the best gift of all, three little words.
Do dreams come true?