So many times I have been shown and told there is no room for me but insist that my apparently square peg can most certainly fit into this round hole.
Angry with myself for insisting. I'd love to proudly say it is my way to be persistent. I am but that's not what this is. Pathetic. Is what it is. The thought of it sickens my own belly.
I have basically begged and pleaded for one fucking person to want me. Match my level of desire. Balance my intensity with equity. I have a firm grasp on the definition of "eventually". Even subtext is clear. Never is what was meant. I can take that.
Foolishly hopeful. Tears welling in my eyes as I vent tell me I am not done. Yet.
Feel like I should dust off my Scorpio Manual and brush up on the part that tells me when and where be less all-or-nothing 'cause this shit is for the birds.
For all my wanting and professing. All my sincerity. My fantasies are merely wishes. Only wishes.
Fin.
