It is hard being the outsider. It is hard for me to stand behind the glass. Watching all of my friends moving on without me, being happy, and having fun and I am here stuck watching from a distance. I hate that I have purposefully let go of people I love and care about because it hurts too much to be so far away from them. I hate that the hurt was too much to deal with. I try not to think about it so much anymore, but it sneaks back in my train of thought every now and again. I miss some of them. I try not to, but I do. Just because I have let them go doesn’t mean that I don’t care. On the contrary, I care a lot. I care so much that not being able to actively participate in their life has pulled me away. I feel like they deserve friends who can be there. I seclude myself in hopes not to hurt myself or any other person. I may have done just the opposite. But I can’t change things, I can’t perform magic tricks or miracles. I don’t have a private jet, and I certainly don’t have a set of wings to lift me up and get me there to apologize. What is there to do. I try to reach out and pull my hand back before they notice. I guess the fear that my hand will be rejected if they did see it weighs me down. But maybe I worry too much over nothing. I don’t see anything on the other side saying they feel the same as I do. I don’t see a hand reaching out for me. I haven’t seen a spot of effort on their behalf trying to get ahold of me. Maybe I am just blind, or maybe I see things clearer than the glass I hide behind. I miss things, and people, and conversations. I miss the pictures and the memories, and the texts. I miss getting out and actually seeing people smile in person and not through a facebook post. Part of me just wants to be on the receiving end of everything. I put myself here for a reason, but even I don’t truly know that reason anymore. The glass has fogged over from getting to close. My visions have blurred and my words are muffled. I stand here and the only thing I see these days is a rugged reflection of myself beyond the smoke and mirrors. I no longer see things for what they are. I suppose maybe I am jaded, fading into a vaste array of self pity and loathing. Maybe I am meant to remain on the outside. Perhaps this is as close as I can get. I wipe away my thoughts and wants and wishes with every wipe of the glass. I guess I will pull up a chair, I am going to be here for awhile anyways. Staring, wondering, just how it feels to be on the inside.