The other way around

I’m sorry but I’m not that girl.

Or at least I’m trying my best not be that girl—

Who’s going to sit around and wait for grand gestures that will sweep me off my feet. That girl who’s going to get flattered with the words or phrases you coined to touch that chamber beneath her bosom. That girl who’s going to spend all day walking to and fro, thinking what’s the best gift she could hand you on your birthday or on Christmas day. That girl who’s going to share her whereabouts with her family or with her friends (not unless she’s too drunk and too lonely and she just need someone to talk to via SMS). That girl who will worry if she’s the reason behind that particular fondness of a certain song, which lyrics clearly speak about the story that you’re sharing for the past weeks. That girl who wants to spend her spare hours near your workplace, so you can drop by to grab a drink with her after those exhausting hours you spent working for things that don’t really work out for you.

I can’t read you and I can feel that you can’t read me, too.

Because I am the girl who’s going to be a walking confusion or perhaps an interesting mess who you would miss when you are becoming that girl who’s going to sit around and wait for grand gestures that will sweep you off your feet; that girl who’s going to get flattered with the words or phrases she coined to touch that chamber beneath your bosom…

Yes, that girl who you sometimes wish her to be.