“The Cute Girl Left”

“The cute girl left.”
Now there’s a statement to summarize my life if there ever was one.
When will I learn
That she always will?
Why am I unable
To simply appreciate her
For who she is while she is there,
Then let her go?
Why do I want so badly
For her to stay
To come over and talk to me,
To laugh and flirt,
To play with a curl of hair
Resting so gently against her velvet cheek
As her large eyes dive deep into mine?
If I depart before she has finished
Am I ever “the cute guy who left?”
Does my absence ever bring disappointment
Or am I just grasping
Clinging foolishly to the childish notion
That someone wants me to be around
For longer than I am?

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