Sometimes

Sometimes I sit at the kitchen table, working on my homework or browsing webpages of overpriced clothing I had previously saved to my laptop, and I see something out of the corner of my eye. Some sort of movement outside of the back door's large window. And I turn my head quickly, because there's this small, stupid part of me that expects to see Floyd on the doorstep, ready to make things right again. But then I see that I had only been seeing my overgrown bangs hanging in my eyes, and when I toss them back, there is no one there.

This happens fairly often, so you'd think I'd have broken that habit by now. But the dreamer in me is convinced she must glance up, toss her bangs back, and make sure, just in case.

And sometimes, I look at him and I wonder why I think he is beautiful. I watch him during Physics class as he stares at his computer, face in his hand, absentmindedly scrolling through meme sites. One sidelong glance and I would be caught, guilty of something I shouldn't care about being convicted of, because as far as I know, the object of this warped affection learned of the affection long ago, before it was even warped.

Furrowed brow. Bitter half-scowl. The pale, lifeless face of someone who hasn't had a good night's sleep in days. Possibly weeks. Small but prominent belly hanging over his jeans. Nestled in his brown leather jacket like a turtle shell. He looks angry. He looks shiftless. He looks weary. He looks apathetic. There's something about him that is different. There is something missing. The sound of his voice, the sound of his cocky laugh, the sound of a sarcastic comment dropped in every now and then. It's almost like he's been slipping away from me, sense by sense. I can no longer breathe in his scent. I can no longer feel the warmth of his body next to me. And now, I can't bask in the comfort of his voice, his humor. Even when he isn't speaking to me, that sound is still placating to me. Classes he and I have together hold an eerie silence, a quiet that I never knew existed when I was still hanging on every word he said. When there were still words to hang on.

When was the last time I had seen his wicked smile?

He seems jaded. I feel jaded. Are we wearing each other down with this mutual agreement of turning a blind eye to each other? Or is it something else altogether, something that has absolutely nothing to do with me? Because perhaps it is time to face the fact that maybe I don't mean anything to him anymore. But maybe I do.

And then sometimes I look at him and I remember why I think he is beautiful. I see this perfect person, this unconventionally handsome paradox of a person, and his eyes are sparkling and burning through me, and his lips are curved into a half smile, and I feel foolish for ever considering the fact that I could be falling out of love (?) with him.

Floyd has been plaguing my thoughts for a very long time now. So long that I feel that he is physically living inside of my head. Sometimes I wonder if I only keep him inside of my head because he is my comfort zone. I have discovered that I am a person who is terrified of anything outside of her comfort zones. And this lost cause of a relationship has become my comfort zone. Actually, any train-wreck of a romantic interest is a comfort zone for me, as sad as that is. Unrequited love has become home to me.

And sometimes, when I become convinced that this is true, that I am not in love (?) with Floyd, and that the only reason I think I am is because I am afraid to fall for anyone else, he seems to grip tighter to my unraveling mind, refusing to let go. Maybe a simple smile. Maybe a gaze that is held long enough that it should feel uncomfortable, but somehow, it doesn't. Maybe a casual conversation. He finds a way to stick around longer. He always finds a way.

Maybe Floyd wants to be inside of my head. Maybe I've been the one refusing to let him in. Maybe I don't even want him there.

But maybe I do.