I miss you, I’ll admit it. But never to you. I’ll pretend I’m fine with how things are and maybe it’s wishful thinking but it kinda seems like you’re pretending too. And I’ll try not t o read too much into how you hug me a little longer than normal anytime we meet up. Or how your gaze lingers when I catch your eye from across the room, making my heart speed up. Yeah, you still affect me, I’ll admit it. But never to you. And I’ll try not to linger on the bobby pins I’’m still finding around my room. A reminder of a time when you were so comfortable there that you’d let your hair down. I’ll pretend I don’t read over our notes a hundred times a week. “I probably lost them” that’s what I told you. But they’re in the jewelry box you got me cause yeah, I kept that too. I enjoy your company, I’ll admit it. But never to you. Because planting doubt in the mind of the only one I care about is what I do. You say you see past it. That there’s more to me than meets the eye. And I’m so dead set on proving you wrong that I’ll willingly play into the image that most have of me. I push you away and you pull me closer. I build up my walls only to find that you carry the layout to all my defense mechanisms. You insist that I’m not who I appear to be. That there’s complexity. And in an act of defiance I become simplistic. You still argue there’s more. You’re right, I’ll admit it. But never to you. Because I’d never be so cruel as to let you into the inner workings of me. And I’ll send you an innocent good morning text. Hoping you’ll realize I do it because you’re the first thing on my mind when I wake up. You respond immediately, like you had your phone handy, waiting for a text. Those old habits are hard to break, I’ll admit it. But never to you. Sure, it’s not the same, but you’re still the one I turn to. Because you know me better than I know me. Even if you wish it weren’t true. I know you better than you know you. You taught me love, I’ll admit it. But only to you.