How am I supposed to know

Glitter mascara running down my cheeks.

Uncertainty rents space in my head.

I’m a foolish girl.

A foolish girl for thinking that I could change who I am deep down inside in an attempt to see inside of you.

For thinking that I could find out your secrets without asking you.

For thinking that maybe, just maybe, your heart pounds like mine.

Races when you see me, like mine does whenever I see you.

Hear from you.

Think of you.

I’m not a girly-girl.

But I still feel deeply.

I still ache to know you inside and out.

To know your innermost thoughts.

To know if what I thought I felt was truly real.

That what I felt wasn’t just a daydream.

How am I supposed to know?

How am I supposed to know if you won’t tell me?

Won’t show me.

I’m afraid to hope.

Afraid to…

Afraid to be vulnerable in public.

Afraid to be vulnerable in front of you.

Afraid to take the first step.

Afraid to wait too long.

To let life pass me by while I wait.

How am I supposed to know?

To know if you feel the same way I do?

How are you supposed to know?

If you don’t give it a try?

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