You're alone.
You have this whole universe inside your head,
twisting and turning. Even there, you're on your own.
These aren't the kind of stories you like.
These are the kind of stories you stay away from.
When you're stressed, you calm down by imagining
touching the freckles on his arms.
When you're upset, you get better by making up stories
about kissing him, about making out.
It's always the physical that soothes you.
Because in your head you know
you'll always going to be on your own.
Even in your most daring dreams,
you never expect a friend,
keeping everyone at arms length.
You can only get better, if you accept this as fact and move on.
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