I can’t mold clay as attractive as you. The tug-a-war between wanting to be alone and wanting to be like everyone else. A school girl crush, natural, but it will not work. Not with me. A broken puzzle piece that will not fit with the others. Not wanting to be different, but wanting to be unique. We’re contradictory. We’re oxymorons. You taught me that word. It struggled on my tongue for months till it came out of yours. Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe you won’t call me vulgar names. Maybe you won’t send me away. Maybe you’ll take care of me at night when I break down and my brain fractures into a million uncontrollable fragments. Maybe you’ll do the impossible and make me happy. Doubtful. But sometimes false hope can keep us together for a little while.