The more I'm with you, the more I don't like you

When I first saw your face, 

I knew you'd be mine.

Or at the very least, I wanted to make you mine. 

I couldn't tell how old you were or what your race was, 

but all I saw was cuteness. 

Never in a million years did I expect us to meet. 

That kind of stuff only happens in the movies. 

(Well, I guess you can call my life a film then.) 

I was listening to The 1975, sweating in my dress because I had just walked a mile to buy my friend's birthday card.

You were going in and out through the doorway. 

And that's how we met. 

You saved me.

You really did. 

You helped me when life took a turn for the worse, and you didn't ask for anything in return.

I was suspicious.

I assumed something was wrong.

No way could a guy ever be this nice.

No guy had ever treated me so well. 

And lately, I've been seeing my suspicions come true.

You haven't replied to my message, 

and we don't text anymore. 

We no longer spend time together alone,

and you joke about finding a girlfriend. 

I wish you would see that I like you,

and I can imagine a life together. 

But I know you're older.

You're gonna leave me soon

to show the world all that you're made of. 

Some other girl will be lucky enough to have you, 

and we...

We will be something that never happened.