I’ve just become a character, we all have, in a story we don’t get to write ourselves.

Because the truth is, I’m always the guy sitting on the curb. Or on the floor of my room. Or wherever. I’m the one who waits for something that never comes.

But then I think about where knowing somebody has gotten me: nowhere. No. someplace worse than nowhere, because when you’re nowhere I’m pretty sure you feel nothing.

Guys don’t go for me. Period. I don’t distract them. They don’t sneak glances in my direction. They don’t think of me when I’m not standing right in front of them. I’m scenery. I’m background.

Friends, I was pretty sure, lift their friends up; they don’t weigh them down like a sack full of stones.

Sometimes things happen. Things happen even when you don’t intend them to happen. Maybe at the beginning you had good intentions, or intentions you thought were harmlessm but before you knew it things got out of your control.

I thought he might kiss me as we sat shivering on the bank of the spring with our clothes soaked through and our feet dangling in the steaming water. We looked into each other’s eyes the way I’d always imagined people did right before they leaned in closer and touched lips for the first time. But that was all we did. We looked at each other. Into each other. We were still clutching hands.

Don’t worry about the finish line. Don’t question what you’re doing. Just quiet your mind and keep up the pace.

I’m looking to make a miracle.

They’re just words. And words alone don’t really mean anything. It’s what you feel and what you believe when you say them that matter.