It doesn't matter

It doesn't matter that being in his arms and smelling his smell feels like coming home. It doesn't matter that it's what I wanted and worked for for two years. It doesn't matter that I lost 30 pounds. It doesn't matter that I did everything right. It doesn't matter that he wears nerd glasses and lava lava's. It doesn't matter that I yearn for him. It doesn't matter how he looked at me. It doesn't matter if he wants to come back. It doesn't matter if I never talk to another boy. It doesn't matter that I waited. It doesn't matter what I want. It doesn't matter how broken I am. It doesn't matter that I still think he'll come back. It doesn't matter that I still want him to. It doesn't matter that no one measures up. It doesn't matter that he doesn't want me. It doesn't matter that every time someone asks about the men in my life I still think of him. It doesn't matter that I might not ever move on from that. It doesn't matter that I live in his town. It doesn't matter. Any of it. It just doesn't matter.