You’re hot and then you’re cold.
There are times that I think you don’t like me, that you don’t like having me around.
You ignore me.
You don’t even look at me.
I think you don’t like girls who act like a jobless alcoholic. Of course you don’t.
But if you must know, I’m not that girl you think I am when you saw me getting so drunk.
You didn’t even know why I wanted to get so drunk that night. I had a reason. And drinking was my salvation that time.
I don’t even know why I’m bothered by this, by you ignoring me.
You’re not my boyfriend, even.
The funny thing is that everything you do, every word you say affects me.
Just like that thing you did. That thing when I felt that you made fun of me. Like you mocked me.
You made me feel stupid.
I was hurt.
You hurt me.
And you don’t even know it.
I dreamed of you once you know.
You were singing that song that I always hear on the radio.
Funny because I thought it was a sign from the universe or something.
I wasn’t even thinking about you that time. But then you were in my dream.
Another funny thing is that I don’t even admit to anyone, even to myself that I like you.
That I like you, a lot. More that I should. More that I thought I possibly could.
It has been five years now?
And we’re still friends. We grow closer each year. But it’s never consistent.
Maybe we’ll be like Alex and Rosie.
I thought about you and about the possibility of finally having you after fifty years while reading Rosie Dunne, you know.
Fifty years is a long time. But if that’s what it takes then so be it.
If it’s fate it’s fate.
If it’s not….
Then maybe in our next lives.
Maybe in our next lives, I’d be your type of girl.
I’d be that girl that you don’t even think twice to court.
That girl that will be perfect for you.
That girl that you’d feel protective to.
That girl that’s worth the gasoline and effort to drop her at her house.
That girl that you’d not regret falling in love with.
That girl that would be worth it of everything, every fight, sleepless nights, and empty wallet because you surprise her with the every book that she tells you that she wants to read.
Maybe I could be that girl.
Maybe in our next lives.
But then again, Maybe is never a certainty.