o-u-c-h

I pour my heart out, and in the end, all I get are some randomly generated words of consolation. I guess I really am not of value, then. That would've been fine and dandy, if you actually were honest enough to tell me so. But no, you and your effing mind games, effing emotional games, all conspire to give me the constant illusion that I actually mean something to you.

But I realize it now.

I'm nothing to you. I'm just this little tool to you that you can pick up when you find it novel and cute, then quickly discard when the novelty is worn out.

I'm nothing to you. All this talk about us being close, all this talk about us sharing a special kind of friendship, are nothing but lies you perpetuate just so I'd stay by your side.

I'm nothing to you. What happens in my life does not interest you one iota as much as the chance for me to hear your stories again that you so love hearing yourself tell interest you. My insignificant existence is little more than a source of amusement for you.

I'm nothing to you. I can't get under your skin no matter how I try, nor can I ever be the cause to brighten up your day, either. I simply don't rate enough to somehow be able to affect you.

And yet here I still am, fool that I am, here for you.

Do you even care?

I didn't think so, either.

---from Marcelle's blog---