Standing awkwardly in the entry of a bar, never wanting to go in the first place but just trying to save face, ready to make tracks and leave to get away from all the people
gazed fixed on the floor so shes set to ignore the wandering eyes and it’s really no surprise that the one place she wants to be is off limits for now

and he always asks ‘who’s still with me?’

Irony is, she is, but he doesn’t seem to care.
She goes to bed before midnight on weekends, no point in makeup anymore, the staring game with the phone is getting old and she’s beginning to lose hope that he’ll ever call.
It’s a damn shame, a waste of a perfectly good lady, encased in a frame of salvation or pain
Neither here nor there, hanging in the balance waiting for the tipping point
a yay or a nay and she’ll there or be on her way, but this dedication and patience is either real stupid or a blatant display of a love that might decay and waste away while he sits ignorant to the only one who didn’t care about the demons in his head.