Writing

I woke up, my feet brushing against the carpet as I pushed out of bed. Beside my uniform, my Luminor glowed a steady green, brightening as I shook off sleep.

I hate it 

when people say

 it'll be okay,

 and that they understand.

 But they don't. 

They don't understand, 

because they aren't me. 

I like auditioning. I like it because it makes me feel special - I like the anticipation, walking in that room, and just getting to play what you've practiced. It's predictable. 

I've been here before

I know this feeling

the impending sense of

happening.

It's going to happen

it's inevitable

is this a mistake?

I will back off so fast if you tell me you don't want it.

I don't know you

I want to

but not yet.

I know you are more useful to me as a faraway rival

of extraordinary difficulty

than as a friend right now

I also know I won't have a choice next year.

We hold hands and they call us lovebirds,

But they are too colorful and noticeable,

Not nearly strong enough as your grip,

As your hands around my waist,

Keeping me from falling (but it's already too late.)