Coping

When I need to cope, I write.

So I’m writing now.

I’m writing to you.

Pouring my feelings out in something you’ll probably never read or hear.

You don’t know who you are.

We’re just friends.

I’m just the singer.

You’re just the guitarist.

All that music talk is just to keep me from blurting that I love you. I avoid silence because I’m afraid you’ll catch me staring.

Soon you’ll be gone.

Just like everyone I’ve ever cared for.

With Kira it was popularity. Gone.

With Erika it was a new school. Gone.

With you, it’ll be college. Gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

I don’t know what I’m feeling.

But I know you wouldn’t choose me.

There are prettier girls.

Ones without loud laughs and pimples.

Ones without frizzy hair and braces.

Ones who aren’t little Freshman watching you like a puppy dog.

A puppy dog you don’t notice.

I don’t want to ruin this.

I don’t want to loose a good friend.

All these feelings just make me not give a damn about anything anymore.

Make me say “Screw the world.”

I already have.

I’m wandering through my life like a ghost.

Not living because I’m thinking of you.

I don’t know if anyone sees it, but I couldn’t care if they did.

It makes me want to scream and cry and laugh all at the same time.

Whatever god granted us these confusing emotions ought to try feeling this for a day.

So many emotions I don’t know which is which.

Sometimes it’s a mood where I want to punch something, somebody, anything to relieve the frustration.

Sometimes it’s a “Kill me now” mood.

Sometimes I just want to curl up and cry.

Sometimes I need a hug, warm arms and a shoulder to cry on. Just to cry, and cry, and cry, and cry.

Mostly the last one. Today it’s a bit of each, but mostly the last one.

Sleep offers no solace, because sleep will not come.

God, you’re so talented. You’re amazingly talented. And sweet, caring, brilliant, understanding, funny, the list goes on.

What am I? The awkward Freshman with the novice guitar skills.

I’m looking around at all these happy couples. All my friends have their match. What do I have? A longing heart and a notebook full of unsung songs.

I think I believe in love at first sight.

If this is even love.

It’s painfully numbing. I really can’t feel or think of anything else.

You always think writers and movies romanticize love and heartbreak. Make it dramatic to weave a good tear-jerker.

You say, “Jeez, get it together. It can’t be that bad.”

Then you feel it.

And you realize it’s so much more.