by C. S. Raine (aka battousai24, tehcheshirecat)

She says she's a wreck.

I nod, despite wanting to violently react and say,
"No, you're perfect!"

She knows herself more than I do.
Of course, I barely know her.

She says she's missing something.

I nod again, but I want to tell her,
"I can complete you."

She would have said "someone," had that been the case,
and even then, I doubt it would be me.

She says she's lonesome.

I nod, silently, and yet inwardly screaming,
"I'm right here!"

Perhaps I'm not enough.
Obviously, I'm not.

She says she can't wait to fall in love.

My heart skips a beat, but I nod, breath hitching and longing to say,
"I'm in love with you."

She would, of course, say "with you" at the end if I had a chance.
Who am I kidding, right?
I'm such a daydreamer.

She pours her heart out.

I listen. I nod. I smile, laugh or try to give comfort in hopes she could see it,
but I expect nothing in return.
Really, I don't.

As much as I want more,
I'm happy where I am.

I'm lucky to even be where I am.