Get Over Yourself, Baby

On the eve before her 3rd exam was to commence, she cried in her bed to no avail.
Her goal was to fully dispense her body's percentage of water through her tear ducts, all for no one to see. She wished he was there to witness her tears, to deal with the overwhelming emotion of feeling unimportant. Late replies were always a trigger for her, in the past it had been the most evident sign of a person's lack of interest in her attempt to sustain a conversation. But so, most of her so-called 'friendships' continued this way through the poor medium of "MSN Messenger," a popular way to chat over the internet with the use of an email. She dealt with a lot in those years, lost herself in low self-esteem--or rather never did find herself--until Jordan came along and propped her up on her own two feet and said, "Stop it." It took her quite a long time but eventually she got the hang of it and soon she was capable of doing more than just 'standing' and began to soar. With the finest of feathers, of the most unique colours she flew, a day here and there she wavered and returned to the ground.

All of these experiences and nostalgic emotions run rampant in her mind but he doesn't know what she has endured and how strong her fear of being meaningless truly is and why it is so. All he had to say was "you're important to me," but he didn't say so and though she tried to rationalize that he had not said it because maybe he thought his actions proved it but as the night passed...she ached with the thought, "maybe I'm not important to him." She instantly wished she was a complex composition, just the right stringing of notes to make him weak in the knees. She thought cleverly that maybe then she would be openly admired and acknowledged as important. An hour earlier, she had spiralled into hysterics; to cry or to laugh? She'd rather smoke a cigarette on the roof of her old school and yell till her chords would give out. If her chords gave out there would be no point to her existence, she might as well have never entered his life. So maybe when they meet again it'll all be forgotten, she'll fake a smile and fall into his charming crooked smile like an enchanting curse. She'll leave her frustrations to another late night to soil her pillow with tears and angry diary entries. She'll be stern telling herself to "get over yourself" and find some key ingredient to growing up and inject apathy into her veins as if it were conveniently prescribed. Apathy is not the diagnosis but the cure.