What were you thinking?
Did you think I meant something else when I wanted to be your friend?
You worried it would lead to something greater, which couldn't be allowed.
You couldn't take the risk of finding out I was someone worthwhile.
It scared you, that you even considered the prospects.
It's as if you tried your best to deny us both happiness.
You were more afraid of facing your better side than of possible rejection.
Did you think no one else could find you beautiful?
You looked in the mirror every day and thought, who could love this?
You painted yourself in your mind, made yourself ugly,
So that you'd have a reason to be lonely.
Whose imperfection did you fear more - mine, or your own?
Did it worry you that you might have to re-evaluate yourself,
Comb yourself over and find those good parts you'd worked so hard to bury?
Were you afraid I might actually start caring about you?
That you'd then have to accept that you were a person of worth?
That you were attractive? That you were deserving of attention?
That maybe, all these bad things you thought about yourself
Were of your own invention?
Did you ever think that I was just as shy as you?
That all I was hoping for was a hint of reciprocation?
A returned glance? An understanding hug? An offer of companionship?
Just enough to let me know, despite how afraid you were, you wanted to try?
And what was I feeling all this time?
I sat and wondered, what is it that I'm doing wrong?
What is it about me that makes me so undesirable?
Did I ask too much when I gave you an open offer of commitment?
Was I too anxious? Too clueless? Too honest about what I was feeling?
Did it scare you that I could be so open about my emotions?
I looked at myself, and the next guy, and wondered just what the hell
Made such a big difference, between love, and a face at dinner.
Because that's all I am now; it's easy, isn't it?
You simply have to say "Hi", maybe share some random thoughts of the
And you feel you've fulfilled your capacity as "acquaintance".
It's a lot easier when you just don't care, isn't it?
I've told myself that many times; I'm sure it's true.
But despite my best efforts, I can't help but try and feel emotion for others.
I suppose it's some naive, lovesick failing of mine.
Hope springs eternal, but life doesn't.
I'm not gonna be here forever.
You keep saying, I'm sure you'll find someone, just a matter of time.
How much time do you think I have?
How many others must I find before I meet that "someone"?
Why the hell can't it be you?
Aren't you good enough? Aren't I? Don't you want to be happy?
To have someone to care about, and care about you?
What is it you really want, that you can't get from me?
You won't tell me; you can't tell me, the pride hurts too much.
Well, I'll tell you.
I want someone to care about besides myself.
I want someone to hold close to me at night.
I want someone I can communicate with by touch.
I want a companion for all those things you're supposed to do with others.
I want to know that despite how poorly things are going in my life,
That someone out there I love, loves me back.
Too much to ask of one person, isn't it? Too much to ask of you.
So I'll be moving on now, as I always do, because quitting's not an option.
My happiness lies elsewhere, in other people.
And perhaps, one day, I'll actually find it.
Or die trying.
by David "Mongo" Rodgers