I sat absentmindedly staring at my English homework, hoping that if I waited long enough, it would write itself. Not knowing what else to do, I scrolled through my phone. I reread a few recent conversations and debated shooting out a group text. The likelihood of one of my friends being up past midnight was slim to none, and the answers I might receive could be anything from angry rants to death threats for waking them, but I still wanted to try.

There was only one problem; I had no desire to talk to my friends. I wanted to talk to her.

I scrolled down to her name, forcibly shoving my hopes down my throat. I wanted to text her and get a response, but she hardly ever texted me back. I wanted to see if I hadn't already left a long list of spam for her to reply to, but as I opened the chat from three days ago, I felt my heart break a little. Again.

Sometimes she would talk to me and it would seem like we were friends, like she wanted me around as much as I wanted to be around her. When we went out on adventures, I became a different person. A braver person. A happier person. The kind of person I wish I could always be. As cliche as it sounds, being with her made me feel alive.

Other times--most times--I felt ignored. Insignificant. Like if I didn't talk to her, she wouldn't talk to me. Years of insecurities came rushing back when she took longer than a few minutes to respond. But she always had a good excuse. She'd text me in a panic, explaining that her grandfather had just died or that she had left her phone in Norway while visiting family, and apologize for not responding. I'd tell her it's okay and that I wasn't upset because I'm happy she pays any attention to me at all.

Sighing softly, I closed the screen and slide my phone onto the table beside me. I still wasn't in the mood to do homework, but now I was trapped in a pit of self-wallowing to top it all off. My shoulders sank. I cursed the God who made me lactose intolerant. I could have really gone for some ice cream and crappy late night TV right about then.

Instead, I pushed my homework across the table and laid down on my arms, willing my body to sleep in an uncomfortable position as punishment for pining after an uninterested girl like some kind of shy Romeo.