I want you to want me.
The way I want you.
The way it should be.

But then, it never is the way it should be.

You know your futile desperate position when you run out of matchsticks and end up lighting smokes from the butt of the previous one in the late night dark while getting wet from the gentle rain sitting on the stairs and suddenly realizing it is morning and you don't know how time passed you by while you were weeping by the red sky.

Waif in a limbo.