Hyrcanian

I fell hard for you. When you slowly wrapped your fingers around my hand, I felt my legs liquefy as I slid face down onto a cold, concrete floor. And all I could do was lie there and wait for you to pick me up, brush me off and laugh, so that we could move on with our lives together.
And you did, a bright light shining from behind you, encircling your head and blinding me. And I drifted with you-clasping onto your hand so tightly that I was scared I might crush it. In our palms was hope and realization; hope that we could last, that I could love and be loved in return; the realization that I was in love. I told a few of my closer friends about us, how you made me feel, how we sat next to each other and used each other's shoulders as pillows, how we could talk for hours and hours about the most random things, how you made me feel, how I thought that my first relationship could be my only relationship. I was truly, unconditionally in love with you.
I went over my feelings for you every day in my head, smiling and whistling tunes as I strut down the hallways. Especially on this particular day, as I sat in class idly looking out the door. And then I saw you with her.
Suddenly, the alarm went off and I found myself still lying on the floor, groggy from my long sleep. I looked up again, only to see your lips on hers, standing almost unobstructed from view. I was across campus but I could see your hands clasping hers, your smile as you lay your lips on hers again. I could only watch from the floor.
I went home trying to rationalize what had happened. Maybe it was a trick of the light, a mirage! Maybe it was someone else! Maybe she leaped on you! Each excuse only became more feeble and more flimsy, leaving me in tears in my room, tears dropping onto the hard floor that I lay on.
Every muscle in my body seemed non-functional. I could not get up and was forced to watch you and her over and over in my head, even though your shadows were long gone. I could remember nothing of the fever dream I had, only the nightmares that had crept into it. When you told me you weren't into me like that, but I just told myself that you weren't comfortable with it; when you didn't return my texts; when you left me waiting for you to come.

I remember now. Every time you write sweet nothings to her, every time you tell me how she makes you feel. Every time I talk to her, every time I read what she has to say about you. I see how much you care for her, how happy she makes you, and although I'm disappointed that I can't be the one who makes happy, I'm happy for you.

So why haven't I gotten up?