Day. Night.

Day. This is when I question myself. This is when I try to correct, try to perfect myself for her eyes. I see her more than she sees me; I am looking, she is not. When I'm around her I'm different. I try to be myself, but doubt overcomes me. I am filled with the lies of my environment that I myself am not worthy. I try to talk to her. Too much, really. When she does not respond, it hurts. More doubt fills me. When I am with her, I am happy. I try not to show it, as not to promote and flaunt my feelings. If I hurt her, I hurt me. I only want her to be happy. I only aim to please.

Night. This is when I question her. I get angry at her, for she is the one with eyes shut tight, not I. Yet I always forgive her, and go back to blaming myself. More doubt. Night is a time for sleep, yet I do not. I can not. The doubt won't let me. The questions won't allow me the rest. I have an ever-enduring waterfall of thoughts flowing through my head. I drift into sleep and awake to another Day.

My Realization

I've finally realized why it is the good guys never get a chance. We read multiple E.E. Cummings poems today in class. They were all about the speaker's undieing love for a woman. And after reading each poem, I heard the same thing from almost every girl in the class: "Aw, why are there no more guys like that?" or "I wish I could find a guy like him!" And then I heard it: "All the good guys are dead..." That's when it hit me: Girls don't notice the nice guys until they're dead. Because then they wouldn't have to settle for them. Then it's convenient. So there it is, all the nice guys out there: We're doomed. It's not that nice guys finish last, it's that we never finish at all.

And don't even start to say that I'm just not noticing the girls that are noticing the nice guys, cause I am. One of my best friends has completely moved past that whole stage in life, and she sees the nice guys for who they are. But girls like that are the minority. And it's a tragedy.