My FairyTale

Here I am, losing sleep. Insomnia. I toss and turn, and in this bed, I feel as though the mattress is made of quick sand. Sitting in a seat as the wheels benath are turning, foam of my headphones pressed up against my ears as you linger in my head, roaming. He loves me, He loves me not. I go back and forth between the thoughts. I stay up past what I consider acceptable because the thoughts I have of you make me hysterical. Though I try to shut my eyes, my eyelids flutter, I start to dream of you, and God knows I know better! Your replies are short, and the feeling is short-lived. Why do I try to love when this is what I'm given? I wrote you a letter the other day, when I finished my hands were filled with blisters. But I'm so tired of feeling as though my penmanship is too tough to read. We were speaking different languages, but I still feel the pull between you and me. Do you even hear me? Do you see me like I see you? I love that chain around your neck, and I like the way you smile, too. And if you asked me to, I'd be there for you, so please don't be so shy with me because we'll get nowhere with that mentality. And I want nothing more then to be with you, my fairytale consists of an end with you and me