Reserved

Are you still thinking of her?

My pillow is messed up, the black dye of the mascara I wore for her is forever tattooed into the white sheets that well.. were.
I think of you every night.
How nice it would've been if I wasn't constantly afraid of my later self and her potential pain.
I was just too afraid.
But it's too late, it's too fucking late.
You're taken, you're proud of it too.
I hate seeing that twinkle of her eyes towards you.
I'm tired of seeing you hold hands,
I'm tired of seeing the "no you hang up", honeymoon dance.
I can't bare seeing her sit on you, I can't believe she stole my seat.
Well, my name wasn't on the seat, but everyone knew it personally my seat!
Atleast I thought they knew.
It's even worse cause I don't hate either of you.
I wish I hated both of you, well one of you, cause to me she's just a jacket holding my seat until everyone remembers who that seat was reserved to.
Remember that I paid my emotional dues to that seat.
Remember fast cause I continue to bleed swollen having to stand here and watch my conversation, my seat, and my girl get stolen.
Stop being thief!
But then I realized, she offered something neat.
She wasn't me.
I was offering love silently,
She was offering love loudly.
I'm sorry I was afraid to love proudly.
I was too nice, too hearty.
How did I even get here?
This isn't my party!
Where was I dropped off and why did I realized my location so late into the night.
Why is the candle light, not as bright.
Why didn't anybody tell me it was getting late, but
I mean I saw the darkness, and knew it was almost time.
I knew it was fate.
And why is that pretty jacket a pretty body and face.
Have I been hovering around the wrong table?
And why isn't my love not sending at the right table through the right cable.
Why can't I manage to be stable.
I hope she doesn't realize my love is enabled and trashes it.
I hope she sees the tag and gives it to someone who will give a shit.
I hope she secretly locks my love away in a box and keeps it on high shelves above.
Take it down once the pretty girl isn't around.
I want that pretty girl to move.
She's not yours, I have proof! Me..
I'm not the fucking server, there's no refund guaranteed I deserve to sit there,
Why do I even want to sit there?
Time is passing by, time not shared, and I'm still around the table, at the foot of the table, under the table, but not at the table.
I'm utterly unstable.
I can't move on, I'm not capable.

I wish I could discuss love with you, I want her to move.