Bottom of a Flight of Stairs on a Monday Morning

There is a new, hard callus on my hand,
Like there is a new aching in my heart.
All of those strong feelings I had just banned
Are now ripping me, shredding me apart.

Here I stand no matter how hard I try
But I do not matter; I'm just your friend.
How could you just gracefully pass me by?
It was my heart onto you I did lend.

In good faith, how about paying me back?
What possible features am I missing?
What small characteristics do I lack?
I am always morphing, always changing,

When can I stop? Will it ever be fine
To stop reforming? When will you be mine?