He doesn't like me.
At least not that way.
He's never going to say it. Not straight away, not straight forward, not out loud anyway.
He doesn't like me.
Even though I've said it.
He's never going to say it. Not straight away, not straight forward, not straight to my face.
He doesn't like me.
So I'll fucking cry.
He's never going to tell me. Not straight away, not straight forward, not even to himself.
He doesn't like me.
So I'll build that wall up.
He's never going to tell me. Not straight away, not straight forward, not when there's med school.
He doesn't like me.
It fucking hurts.
He's never going to tell me. Not straight away, not straight forward, not a strain on his soul.
He doesn't like me.
My chest is throbbing.
He's never going to tell me. Not straight away, not straight forward, not when I ask point blank.
He doesn't like me.
I don't have time for this.
He's never going to tell me. Not straight away, not straight forward, not when we watch Space Force.
He doesn't like me.
Why can't I make it go away.
He's never going to tell me. Not straight away, not straight forward, not any fucking time soon.
He doesn't like me.
Let's keep it secret.
He's never going to tell me. Not straight away, not straight forward, not a word to anyone else.
He doesn't like me.
He doesn't like me.
He doesn't like me.
He doesn't like me.
He.
Doesn't.
Like.
Me.
And maybe if I say it enough times, it'll stop hurting. Or at least I'll feel numb. Because he doesn't like me, and there's not a fucking thing I can do that will make that change.
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