It seems as though you do all you can for those that you care about. And it seems as though it means nothing to them. As though the sacrifices and effort you put in for them are all taken for granted. But you accept it, no?
You accept it as your lot in life.
Strangely, you are actually quite content with the role you play. The dependable one, the one that people turn to when they need help. The one that will always be there to provide advice. To keep them company. You keep all the secrets. You try your best to never tell lies.
But you are, for better or worse, a bus stop. Nobody hangs around for a long time. They only look for you when they need you. When they need a bus so to speak. When there is no one else to give them a ride, or no taxis to call upon. Do you complain? No, of course you don't. Because nobody would come to you at all if you did.
You accept that you are a wallflower.
Interestingly, you seem resigned to it. Almost revel in it. But then you think, what if I wasn't around anymore? Would anyone notice? Would anyone care? And the realisation hits you. It doesn't matter. YOU, don't matter. Bus stops are a dime a dozen. And you realise that's what you are. Expendable. Replaceable.
Disposable cameras. Tissues. Newspapers. You. They all have something in common. Once used up, they get thrown away.
So what do you do about it? You try to be more than just a bus stop. You try to be a tangible human being. You have your own mind, heart, soul. And you try to show it to the world, as if to say, this is who I am. But no one's listening.
No one cares. No one cares about you.
But you care so much, for so many. Would they not spare just a drop of concern for you? Just a little spittance of interest to at least give you the illusion that there is an actual friendship to be maintained? Some semblance of hope? And you wonder to yourself, how did I get here? How did I reach this point in life, to be nothing more than a doormat that's taken out when needed and then put away when all is said and done?
And you try and try and try. And ultimately realise that it is a futile effort. Nothing is going to change. People will move on with their lives. You will flit in and out, whenever needed or otherwise. And in the end, you accept it.
You smile and talk as though it's alright. You revert to what you always were. The advice dispenser. The shoulder to cry on. The dependable secret keeper. The one who gets asked out when everyone else is busy. And then you stay at home on those nights when nobody needs you, no one looks for you, and your company is not required.
Do you complain, cry, scream, show your frustration? Of course you don't. You're nice, remember?
And nice guys, always finish last.
You accept it as your lot in life.
Strangely, you are actually quite content with the role you play. The dependable one, the one that people turn to when they need help. The one that will always be there to provide advice. To keep them company. You keep all the secrets. You try your best to never tell lies.
But you are, for better or worse, a bus stop. Nobody hangs around for a long time. They only look for you when they need you. When they need a bus so to speak. When there is no one else to give them a ride, or no taxis to call upon. Do you complain? No, of course you don't. Because nobody would come to you at all if you did.
You accept that you are a wallflower.
Interestingly, you seem resigned to it. Almost revel in it. But then you think, what if I wasn't around anymore? Would anyone notice? Would anyone care? And the realisation hits you. It doesn't matter. YOU, don't matter. Bus stops are a dime a dozen. And you realise that's what you are. Expendable. Replaceable.
Disposable cameras. Tissues. Newspapers. You. They all have something in common. Once used up, they get thrown away.
So what do you do about it? You try to be more than just a bus stop. You try to be a tangible human being. You have your own mind, heart, soul. And you try to show it to the world, as if to say, this is who I am. But no one's listening.
No one cares. No one cares about you.
But you care so much, for so many. Would they not spare just a drop of concern for you? Just a little spittance of interest to at least give you the illusion that there is an actual friendship to be maintained? Some semblance of hope? And you wonder to yourself, how did I get here? How did I reach this point in life, to be nothing more than a doormat that's taken out when needed and then put away when all is said and done?
And you try and try and try. And ultimately realise that it is a futile effort. Nothing is going to change. People will move on with their lives. You will flit in and out, whenever needed or otherwise. And in the end, you accept it.
You smile and talk as though it's alright. You revert to what you always were. The advice dispenser. The shoulder to cry on. The dependable secret keeper. The one who gets asked out when everyone else is busy. And then you stay at home on those nights when nobody needs you, no one looks for you, and your company is not required.
Do you complain, cry, scream, show your frustration? Of course you don't. You're nice, remember?
And nice guys, always finish last.
