I don't know what to do. I'm not interested in ANYTHING. Except her.
She fills my dreams, and my every waking moment is spent obsessing about a girl I've never really met, a girl who finds me, at best, an annoyance. Usually too polite to express it explicitly, her eyes and her body language scream that she wishes I would just go away. Every distraction that comes her way is a welcome one when I am there. Her excitement visibly rises when old friends come along. She is quick to focus her interest and attention elsewhere, even on things she finds frustrating, so that she may look at something, anything, that is not me, the constant specter haunting her room.
When there are no other distractions, her eyes lose focus, her hand is often covering her mouth, trying to hide the irresistible urge to yawn. When we are alone, she tries to hurry me to "goodbye", but I linger there, stupidly, oafishly, aware that I am unwanted, but unable to tear myself away.
She doesn't hate what she does, but she comes close to it when I have her trapped. I want nothing more than I want her to love me, but if I must choose between her disdain and her absence, I always choose the former. For some reason, I cannot bear the thought of the latter. Better her scorn than the abyss of my hollow, empty life.
When we do finally part, I leave feeling so very small, for I have forced this unpleasantness on a woman I profess to love, and my mind reeks with the knowledge that the object of my only desire finds me boring on my best days, repugnant on the rest.
Still I persist. The torture of pretending not to know the truth is eating me from the inside out. One day there will be nothing left, save some photographs stolen from our moments together, and a withered old husk slumped over a dirty, cum-stained chair.