I think I've cemented my place in your life as at least your first girlfriend and that's pretty much it. Somewhat similar to when adolescents have sex the first time, you and I are just a moment to cross off of a to-do list, our few days reduced to a box marked done and over with. Hopefully on a pastel sticky note, at least.
I don't feel like you really want me. It feels like we're only together because you've resigned to make do with whatever available fragments there are of the one you've loved your whole life.
You make me feel like I'm yet another forgettable female side character to your male protagonist, a gateway girl in my own movie.
Always a Rosaline.
The painter's botched replica of a scene in the park.
Nothing more than an attempt at a fantasy of another life.