Quiet Hour

Sitting here with nothing to do, my thoughts drift back to you—
to the way I wish things could be, even if they never will.
These feelings stay tucked away most days,
but tonight they rise to the surface,
asking to be spoken, asking to be known.
I’m not always happy with you;
sometimes your words cut deeper than you realize.
You pull away like you don’t care,
though I’ve seen the softness in you enough to know it’s not the whole truth.
We’re not together—
and you’re still choosing her.
She seems to shine in all the places I dim,
and I can’t help wondering
why I’m still standing here, hoping you’ll turn my way.
You’ve hurt my feelings,
you’ve made me cry,
yet something in me keeps reaching for you,
like a habit my heart refuses to break.
Maybe it’s because these feelings for you
run deeper than I ever meant them to—
because caring for you feels like holding a memory
that never quite belonged to me.
I just wish you were mine,
not in passing moments,
not in quiet dreams,
but in the kind of way that stays.