March Chrysanthemum

vol. 4

A secret desire,
forbidden love.
A long replayed sapphic relationship in my head was bound to occur, but the doubts held us back.
I convinced myself men was the way to go, being like the crowd was the only way I won't be picked out and pinched to death like an ant.
Yet,
when I looked up at the setting sun and my peripheral vision brought you along, I knew it was too late for me to hide.
I stuck out like a thorn and was deathly afraid of my secret being revealed.
At the same time, why does nobody know? Dickinson wrote love songs while I cower over "delivered 13 hours".
I keep my phone by my side at all times in anticipation you send me messages about your day, about what made you stressed and what enlightened you.
But, I received only a single block of text of irrelevance.
I don't blame you. You have a life and so do I,
and we were ill-fated from the start. I anticipate the moving of time bringing us closer and advancing us into a stage where I refused to go before, but time seems to have taken control of me for now.
Countless checking and rechecking of whether you had read my message, whether you were
simply just replying or if you actually wanted to talk to me.
Of course, you claimed you liked me.
But all I hear are those words.
Those words sent many times behind a mindless text. Those words that keep me up at night because I wanted you.
Do you want me?
Or am I just a passerby?

I felt as if I was an alien when I felt no attraction to the opposite gender. Repulsion waved up in me immediately and the sight the person I was flirting with over text made me want to run away.
Then, I met my first love.
I walked out earlier to buy you flowers and I wrote love letter to show you my heart.
Maybe you didn't even want it.
Maybe casual was the way to go.
Maybe I overthought and went ahead of myself.

Overthinking every little detail of my life has made it normal, recreating and giving excuses as to why you couldn't make a few seconds for me.

Once again maybe I'm not top priority.

I've given myself a good amount of distance to the opposite sex so I never had to feel real heartbreak,
but your "delivered" left me lying on my desk questioning my self-worth again.

Did I make myself unlovable again?