She’s in my apartment. Right now.
I can hear her. Their laughter and conversation, muffled but still present, comes floating down the hallway and into my room. Soon enough, I know that it will be moans and sounds of passion. I could count the number of times I’ve had to listen to it, and disgusted by how many times I’ve chosen to.
She was right when she told me that she didn’t want to be with me. Who could blame me for trying to change her mind; slowly but surely she’d have to see how I felt, right? Of course, I was only deluding myself. Flirting conversation and tension; always holding out hope that I could change her. Fix her.
The truth is, you can’t fix anyone. So many hours I’ve wasted trying to save others and somehow make them better people just by being around them, but there is no changing peoples’ minds when they’re set on what they know. When they’re set on what they want.
I’m tired of trying to save others. Maybe this is the point you reach when it’s time for someone to save you instead. To make you the better person.
The sad, inevitable answer to that is it will only make you push them away.
And I’m so tired of pushing people away.
I just want her.
