Bastard

You bastard. What the hell are you doing, you bastard?

You bastard. Why do you have to be such a lovely bastard? Friendly and charming and a little bit ditzy. Fudge you. Fudge yourself, you bastard. You make me want to slap that face… You, with the big brown puppy dog eyes and the way your cheeks flush red when you feel awkward. You awkward bastard you. Darn you!

I tried avoiding you. And then you left. I was relieved. Finally I could try to forget. Then suddenly there you are again; Requesting my attendance at a friendly gathering. Everyone kept insisting me to tag along. Why? Are they aware of what it is I try to ignore? Do you know? Or is it just something I stupidly hope for…? These stupid feelings and these stupid childish thoughts…. Oh the agony, the frustration!

What did you need my presence for? And what is it that makes me wonder there should be more? Perhaps you just are nice to all the ladies? Perhaps you feel pity for silly old me and think I should be included so that I’d not be lonely?

My insides are going crazy. Thoughts in my head are racing. I try to keep up my cool side. That I fail at it miserably is something I attempt to hide. Hoping it won’t show on the outside. Hoping nobody knows what it is I feel inside. Because frankly, I don’t quite know what it is myself….

My defense mechanism is on sharp when you’re around. But I try to bite my tongue and not bark at you. God forbid… God forbid the others will notice my awkwardness is caused by the fact that you’re there. Nobody has to know what goes on inside my twisted little brain. Although it’s probably quite noticeable to some, I’m not quite sane.

What am I to do with myself…? I am such a bastard…


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