Every day that goes by that you fail to acknowledge my existence, a part of my insides begins to rupture. Breathing, just to get by, not to savor the cold, sharp in take of air, the freedom, the excitement, the sheer thrill in knowing your lungs not only exist, but thrive. That's what I wait for. Someone like you to sweep me off my feet, take my breath away, and yet still, I'm gasping. Still, the thrill is as real as ever and I'm the one standing on the edge of the curb at 4am with a bottle of Jack and skyscraper heels and overly-applied eye-liner, and I laugh drunkenly and almost topple off the curb-side, and there you are, miraculously; to catch me.
Nobody really knows how much someone else is aware of. So, start smiling.
Anything is possible. I realise that now.