Frank walks into the room like he does every morning, and like every morning, he walks right by me. Not a word. Not even a glance.
It's frustrating.
We're coming up on our one year anniversary since I moved in. Back then, things were great. We used to spend time together all the time. It was challenging every now and then, but we both felt great. I used to take his breath away.

But now, it's like I'm not even there. The only acknowledgement I ever get from him is when he makes me dry his laundry. I'm sick of it. That's not what I'm here for, but it's not like I can say anything.

I overhear his conversations when he's on the phone with his mom. She tells him that he needs me, and that he should pay more attention to me, and he always tells her he will. But ultimately, he doesn't.

I used to worry that he was seeing someone else when he was out, but I don't think that's true judging by how much he let himself go and gained a bunch of weight over the past few months. I know I could help him out though if he would just let me. Sometimes I wish he would just fucking ride me like he used to, but I'm starting to wonder if his heart could even take it now. I don't even know if I'd be able to handle it anymore.

I feel like I'm just a waste of space. I'd move if I could, but I don't even know how I would begin to do that, considering how stationary I am. I know there are others like me, but it still doesn't help. I guess that's just the life of a long-forgotten >!exercise bike.!<

Every morning I'm met with her gaze, her grey glacier eyes pierce through me. What is she thinking about when she sees me?

I look closely, and try to observe her facial expressions.

Celeste has smiled with me, cried with me and has even yelled at me a few times. But no matter what, I am here for her whenever she needs me.

Every morning, every night.

Tonight her eyes were puffed and watery, my poor girl. Grabbing a face cloth she wiped off her dripping mascara tears, only to cry some more.

"I hate you" She cries out to me, covering her eyes as she does so. She cannot even bring herself to look at me. It hurts, because when

I look at her, all I see is an angelic beauty, with the most perfect brunette locks and siren blue eyes. I just want her to see what I see,

but I don't think that she does.

A projection, in her reflection, there's so little I can do about it. I can only show her honest beauty, but it is up to her whether

she wants to see it or not.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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