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March 6, 2014
March 10, 2014
I hate that you're not mine.
And I have no right.
I know that.
I don't know everything about you,
and you don't know anything about me.
Not really, at least.
But sometimes you look at me;
You get this glint to your eyes,
you smile that stupid cheese-y smile.
I can't stand looking at it, but I can't stop.
And I can't help but wish...
But it's impossible. For at least three more months.
So I'll see you around.
Tuesday, Thursday, Friday.
Probably Saturday.
Hopefully Sunday.
© Alexa T., Pompton Plains, NJ
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