Photography by Ioana Cristina Casapu

It’s sacrificing your own happiness, even though you don’t have to.
It’s being afraid to walk out, because you know they won’t chase after you.
It’s letting them talk down to you and not starting an argument with them because they will ask why you stick around anyway. They don’t need you. You will always be reminded of this.
It’s spending money and time you don’t have because you want to keep them in your life.
It’s wishing you could text them 24/7, but you can’t be overbearing.
It’s wishing they would text you first. If they do, it is farther and fewer between than you’d hope.
It’s the occasional mixed signal that keeps you holding onto them, or better yet, the idea of them.
It’s wanting to kiss them all the time, but you can’t.
It’s wanting to cuddle up with them at night. Instead, you sleep back to back or 12 inches apart, and it keeps you awake at night.
It’s being right next to them physically, but they are 2,000 miles away from you emotionally.
It’s wanting to talk to them about what you are, but the possibility of hearing the truth keeps you at bay. Instead, you let the unsaid words eat at you until you are nothing more than a corpse.
It’s doing them endless favors and never receiving a thank you.
It’s being absolutely infatuated with everything about them. What they like, what makes them laugh, what makes them angry. The facial expressions they make, the songs they sing, the words they use.
It’s walking into the room and they cannot be bothered to look at you.
It’s having them overlook the things you’ve done for them so they can complain about the small things you did/didn’t do.
It’s waking up and going to bed thinking about them, and only them. They wake up and go to bed with other troubles on their mind.
It’s trying to detach yourself. Go on a couple dates, hook up with a few people, try to move on. Yet, when you are doing these things you are only thinking of them.
It’s knowing that you are hurting yourself but you cannot stop your path to self destruction. You know this won’t end well. It never does.
It’s having something heavy on your mind but you cannot open up to them. They do not care about your worries.
It’s listening to them tell you their problems, and you carry them on top of your own.
It’s typing out your feelings for them over, and over, and over again. You then proceed to delete the one paragraph that has taken you over an hour to put together.
It’s never telling them how you feel, and when all is said and done, you wonder if it would have made the difference.
It’s killing yourself in front of them, and they do not stop you.
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Submitted to ArtParasites by Draven

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