If I Can’t Be a Part of Your World
I can’t always have what I want. My happiness sometimes conflicts with the dreams and desires of others. And it’s not my place to hurt them just because I hold the misguided belief that I must always be the main character in every story. Every so often, I have to accept that I’m just a supporting role, and that someone else is in the spotlight - no matter how hard that is for my ego. Sometimes I’m neither Romeo nor Juliet, but just some fruit seller suffering in the background. When the black-clad, slim, and boldly grinning girl with life-worn white sneakers, whom I like, with whom I want to spend time, share adventures, and create memories, already has someone by her side, the right path is the one that leads away.
Away from her captivating presence, away from her apparent happiness, and away from the slow-burning pain I’ve become too used to out of ignorance and a bit of masochism. My main goal should be to escape the inner urge to cling to the fading hope that, by some miracle defying all logic, I might still win her over - before I cause irreparable damage to myself and to her. Because all that can come from this desperate attempt is anger, resentment, and profound loneliness. And that’s the last thing I want. Unless I’m already lost. But if that’s the case, it’s too late for me and everyone else around me.
I could avoid these emotional scars by following the advice of others: distract myself, talk to the nice but unremarkable faces, and maybe find someone who could capture my emotions just as strongly as the girl I’m trying so hard to win over. But I don’t want that. Because, to me, everyone else is just an empty shell. And while I know that’s not true, it’s easier to cling to that lie and wallow in my self-pity undisturbed. Heartbreak is more bearable when you give up all hope. It’s easier than facing the uncomfortable truth that maybe I’m not even in love with the girl herself, but with the false expectations I’ve projected onto her from the start. After all, what do I really know about her beyond the few stories she’s kindly shared with me and the connections I’ve stitched together in my mind? Nothing. And realizing that is the first step out of my broken head and into the real world.