Different.

I wrote this poem about a boy I was in love with. I never told him, and I regret it still to this day. We broke up. I've never cried so much.

We were oh, so close.

Not one moment passed when you weren't on my mind.

I would think that would be mutual...

That's what i get for thinking.

Love.

A word often used in my vocabulary;

Almost left my lips in a conversation with you.

Was it too early...

Or too late?

You knew how I felt about you.

I thought you felt the same.

If there's a part of me that's over you, I have yet to find it.

You were my world.

My Milky Way, 

My universe.

And the worst part is...

You knew.

You played me like a fiddle.

Told me I was special,

Different.

The only problem is...

Our definitions of 'different' are not alike.

Different to you means, 'abnormally large b***s, skinny waist, toned butt.'

Mine, on the other hand, means, 'doesn't fit in with the crowd, doesn't care what people think, understanding.'

You lead me on.

Made me think you weren't like the others, told me so yourself.

How long will it take me to get over you?