Transparent - By Black Waltz Omega

Not sure where this is supposed to fit, but... eh. Whatever. This came to me when I was thinking about my life and how being antisocial is just a damned pain...

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Hello there. You don't know me, but... Yeah, I know you. I see you. Every single day, I look for you and when I do find you, I try not to look too obvious; wouldn't want you to think I'm a stalker. But just so you know...

... but you don't really care, I guess. You never notice when I walk by. I try to give you a little smile when you look at me, but even that much goes unseen. You never look at me, do you? More like glance. Your eyes (and dearest, you should know I love your eyes) just pass me by, fixing somewhere else. Is that so you don't have to look at me?

I know I'm not what most (anyone) would call pretty. I'm not on the cheerleading squad, I'm not little miss popular, I'm not the busty brunette with all the football players on her tail. I'm me. I'm human. I exist, too. But you can't see that, can you?

I can accept that. No big loss; just another possible social event passing me by with nothing in the ways of acceptance or rejection. Unless ignorance can count as one of the two; either way, it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. You're you, I'm me, I still have my friends.

My friends. I'm not sure if that's how I think of some of them anymore. I'm just there. Some talk to me when doing so brings some advantage to them, or when there's no-one else to speak to. I'm transparent; they don't see me. I try to talk to them, but they're too busy laughing or arguing or throwing food at each other. But that's not important...

I'll move on. I don't need you, no, not in any way. Wanting a little bit of attention is probably a little much to ask from someone like you, someone who's higher up in the social ladder. Someone who already has the attention of everyone when you pass by and can manipulate that attention to whatever you want.

I don't want to cry. No, that would be being weak. I can't be weak, not now.... After all, you're just... you. A stranger walking in the halls... seen in my dreams... tucked in my thoughts... I try hard not to think about it, about you, but it just happens. You know when you think about something mundane like the Geometry homework you need to finish and then your mind decides to focus onto the tall, handsome guy that your friend gestures at over your shoulder? It's like that, except the gesture isn't always there. It's like some sort of alarm goes off in my head whenever you're within 20 feet of me.

Maybe I'm in love; I don't know. The feeling is lost, or at least undiscovered. Maybe I'm just obsessed; that happens a lot. Maybe I'm just trying hard to be more than what I've let myself become and I'm failing miserably. Being conscious of that much is just... painful.

I shouldn't dwell on it; it'll make it that much more painful. So I'll just go on drifting about, keeping a hopeful eye out for you, though you don't need me or notice me or care, for that matter. Changing is just too hard... I'm just too weak. I can't have what I want. All the better... I'll just...

... I don't know anymore. But I do know that being transparent does have it's advantages: your tears become invisible, and the world goes on smiling...