The One Who’s Not Enough

The script is written on a different page,
One that my eyes are not allowed to see.
You act your part upon a friendly stage,
And smile and say the kindest things to me.
But I can feel the story start to shift
The moment that I turn my back and leave.
A subtle energy, a silent rift,
A tapestry of doubt I start to weave.

I analyze the silence in a car,
The way your eyes connect with someone else.
Each quiet moment feels like a new scar,
A story that my own suspicion tells.
Are plans now made in whispers I can’t hear?
A gathering I’m not meant to attend?
It’s not the anger, but the creeping fear
Of being the forgotten, outlier friend.

I have this vision of a glowing screen,
A private chat where all my flaws are named.
A place where every awkward thing I’ve been
Is mocked, dissected, ridiculed, and shamed.
You add a message, and the others chime,
A chorus of agreement, sharp and fast.
Confirming I have wasted all this time,
Believing in a friendship that won’t last.

And so the kindness feels like brittle glass,
A courtesy before the truth is known.
This feeling that, when all the moments pass,
They secretly prefer to be alone.
That you are all complicit in a lie,
A patient, polite, and painful masquerade.
And in the end, the one they pass right by,
The one who’s not enough… is me, I’m afraid.