I am crumbling with the force of your grip, chasing some teenage fantasy.

I am wide eyed, open mouth panting over your shoulder.

You think that I am boring and you've skimmed right through me, reciting predictable plot lines.

You cannot see the tenderness with which I am written, the thin font that carries me from one mistake to the next.

You do not understand that I am foolish and only interested in the unattainable.

That I cower in the hands of commitment, as I do when I catch you watching me

from across the room.