I don’t hate you.
I don’t love you.
I certainly am not in love with you.
And yet again I do not hate you.
Perhaps it is lust.
Perhaps I am merely indifferent.
I doubt that.
I feel something every time I look at you.
And yet, you still do not notice me.
If I asked you,
Would you know my name?
No, you would not
How do I know that?
Because I know you don’t care.
Not one bit.
And that thought alone,
Slowly is killing me from the inside out.