You can run

and how is it now that another realization has come and gone and you're in the same place, stuck, moving through mud and quicksand, not moving at all.

cheapsinfuckingslutlosingbattleworthlessuntouchablewhore
who would want this for anything more than that job description?

and like a movie reel, the good guy steps in, from nowhere, from internet and wireless signals.
"i think i love you."
just to say it, no proclamation.

"i've always loved you.
you know that.
thought i would just remind you."

and you smiled, how sweet. but you didn't need reminding that he's the wrong one after all, he is the good guy. that his brown eyes will never be a blue that change with the weather, his baby-soft hair never thick and wild, begging to have hands tangled in. he'll never be a mystery you could be certain about, you'll never want to unravel him, learn each of his secrets, each of his subtleties. his smile will warm you but never weaken your knees, his smirk never set you on fire.

his messages will chime in, you adamantly hoping it's the good guy, just to be able to say you weren't really hoping it was him. but you always hope it's him. even the alert has you trained- it's been him so many times. you should really personalize the sounds.

"i don't think that you can hide." but truth be told, you're not even running, are you?