You love her, I can tell.

It's funny how you can tell so much from hearing a name drop. Her eight letters resonate and fill the empty spaces of the cigarette-smoke air. She must have taken up only .00000000001% of our conversation, quite literally, but it was enough. Enough for me to get inside your head and think everything that you're thinking. And while I'm there, I sense she's breaking your heart in the oblivious way those pretty girls always do. You have my sympathy, doll. So I can't take it personally that it looks more and more like this is just going to be another sad case of the "just friends". I'll try to comfort myself with part-truths of self-utterances of "it's better than nothing"s. Which it is. But I guess it's just a bit disappointing having to add yet another deep cut tally mark to my list of "never will be"s.

Apparently deserving to have somebody to love and love you back has nothing to do with the actual acquisition of the aforementioned person.

--Lauren

[what was ... what will be]