I'm lying to myself. I give myself false hope and false expectations that never match up to reality. I twist circumferences around in my mind to make them seem better than they actually are. I think too much about the smallest, most insignificant gestures and blow them up like balloons and float around in this euphoric bubble of what could be and what I want to happen, and am always so let down by what I'm left with, an almost, could-be, maybe situation. I think too much into an accidental hand brushing and prolonged eye contact. I think too much into a smile and catching someone's eyes from across the room. I tell myself that it can still happen, and I cling to the tiniest little glimmers of hope, eventhough I know that there's a little itch I can't scratch that tells me that I'm wrong, and that I can't make something out of nothing. I'm living in this fantasy world, where happy endings really do exist, and the boy and the girl always do end up together. I'm tricking myself into thinking that we're perfect for each other, when in reality, we may as well be strangers.
