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      Love sick

     


Iím not the one you want or the one you need, but I still want you. Your smile, your laugh, your love, everything. You want everything, everything but me. Iím not in a movie and I am not Cinderella, so why do I think I can have you? Because I think I can have something actually work out for me in this god-forsaken world. But I donít deserve it, or you. I keep saying there is no chance that you like me, and I deny it when my friends say I am pretty and amazing. But even though I say things I think there is hope that you do like me and think Iím pretty, but itís unlikely. So I tell people a little lie and hope they donít know I am dying on the inside. What if they do, what if they could see right through this mask Iím wearing and see the girl who never cries, crying. And if you only knew would I feel better? Or would I be sick of love, sick of waiting for someone who will never come, sick of feeling alone and unloved. If this is true I just wish it could all end, end faster than your life after a bullet to the head. Sometimes I question why we love at all. Is it for the satisfaction or is it just so we can play with peopleís minds. It may as well both. All I am asking for is an answer to all of this an answer to why we love, why we get heartbroken, but most of all how we find a cure to heartache.

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