You mentioned once that I was prettier than blood. Prettier than blood because blood was my favorite color. You took solace in my creepiness and turned it into love. You turned my nightmares into art-ridden movies, my apologies into multifaceted tricks, my sadness into an all heart romance. You always knew what to say to make me feel as though my flaws were the best parts about me. But I burnt us down and made you tell me it's alright. I have been nothing but embers in the air turning everything around us into flames of artifice for what we really are. And still you call me love and tell me it's alright and water down my flames and tell me I'm pretty. You would be a lot easier to take if I wasn't so sure you'd leave me bloodless and dull. Bloodless like the pretty I'm not and dull like the mind I try to mend.
I'm a master at criticizing my mindset. I'm a master at fantasizing of romance and pretty people at the most inopportune times. I'm a master at rampantly writing elaborately detailed novels in my head. And I'm a master at forgetting to write them down.
I'm a master at bad luck. At drinking wine. At saying the wrong damn things at the wrong damn time. At making my favorite people uncomfortable. At ruining friendships and families. At locking myself in dark rooms for fun. At being fucking awkward. At being unsure and indecisive about everything I do. At drowning in my thoughts and then quietly complaining about them to my only friend who gets me. At drooling over anyone who's nice to me. At forcing myself into other people's stories. At keeping all things on the tip of my brain in a tiny jumble of bullshit. At romanticizing everything I want to say seriously. At turning anything said seriously to me into dirty, lustful poetry.
I'm a master at so many things but not a single one is worth it.
One day I'll set fire to the remaining parts of my sanity because sometimes I feel that I'd be better off completely insane rather than living in fear of when I'll actually go insane.
But don't mind me, for your story is what clearly matters most. Your story tells of my sanity remaining intact. It tells of my youth not being altered and my childhood memories not being obliterated.
You mock me and you scoff at me and you lie to me and you conquer every part of me, but inside I know you're afraid. I know you're afraid of what I know and you're afraid of my power.
But the unfortunate thing? I'm afraid, too, and you eat that up.
I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of your lies and your scoffs and your mockery and your power. I'm afraid to close my eyes at any given moment in fear of seeing your face that has since been tattooed on the backs of my eyelids to remember forever. I'm afraid to love anyone or anything because you unintentionally taught me how to push love away and how to be that girl that everyone grows to hate. I'm afraid of letting this get so far gone that it's too late, because you basking in your freedom is the very thing I wish to take away from you, along with my innocence. Along with my youth and my goodness and my importance. I'm afraid of how lucky you are, of how convincing you are, of how apathetic and strong you are. I'm afraid of what God will think when he asks me why I don't love you.
I'm thankful to have had this fucked up part of life with you because not everyone is lucky enough to have had the outcome laid out in front of them to take advantage of. I'm lucky because I already knew what I was doing. I don't regret you because I succeeded in knowing you the way I've always wanted to know you. It was I who was lucky. So, forget the rest.
I keep trying to remember the good parts, to pinpoint the happiness. But all I can remember is the very day that wrecked what I had and the very words that doomed it to ruin. For all those words, I apologize. For all the control that was lost, the lies that were told, the confidence I shared in you, I apologize. For an apology, we are. Company and camaraderie are years past and now we're merely making amends, so don't speak here again, as knowing how you already feel could not make words hurt less.
I like that we can sit in silence and point at things with no words and chuckle, able to read each other's minds.
I like that we still can't control our hands and and eyes from doing dirty things at the most inappropriate moments.
I like that we can't walk side by side without immediately searching for the others hand and lacing our fingers together. And I like that it feels awkward when we don't.
I like that we have the exact same interests but the most opposite opinions about them.
I like that we can complete not only each other's sentences but also each other's thoughts and instincts and intentions.
I like that we come up with stupid yet remarkably promising solutions for one another when the other is incapable of fixing a mistake.
I like that we can go months or years without speaking of one small, pointless thing and when it's brought up, it's like it happened an hour earlier.
I like that when I get mad at you I can still laugh because you're just that funny. And I like that you give me your sexy apologetic grin when I say "just because I think you're funny doesn't mean I'm not mad."
I like that we still stay up late in bed talking long after our bodies have already fallen asleep but our voices are somehow still communicating.
I like that you pretend that I'm still just your girlfriend when I'm visiting at my moms and you ask me out for dinner and tell me to ask my mom if I'm allowed to go.
I like that you laugh with me when I'm not really funny and I say "I'm funny, damnit!" Knowing you're only laughing because you're picturing Carla saying it and it's funnier when she says it.
I like that when you're trying to trick me and I don't fall for it, you do your adorable squinty-smile to cover it up, making it look like the sun is in your eyes even when it's dark.
I like that when you ask me if I want anything while you're out and I assure you I don't, you always bring me something anyway. And I like that it's always something I wanted but just didn't know I wanted it yet.
I like that we can say that we're man and wife and that we share the same last name. And I like that I sometimes forget I had another last name before you.
I like that we have such an amazing amount of history that we actually have those types of memories that make us feel really old.
I like that I was put specifically inside your math class that day long ago so that you could tell me the first words you would ever speak to me, "I like your shoes." And I like that we had the same shoes on.
I like our love story because it isn't a story but a promise. And I like that it's a promise we aren't forced to keep, but rather a promise we've volunteered to keep.
I just really like how magnificent we are together.
Why does giving up have to be a bad thing? When you take a step back and notice that the reason you haven't given up is the reason you aren't happy, I'm pretty sure that's when "don't give up" opts out.
You've got a knack for these kinds of things, you know. You're good. I'd like for this to be finished and settled and resolved and fine and normal, but you choose otherwise, proving just how awesome you are at getting what you want. So, congratulations for being so cunning and devout because we all know how much you need the recognition.
Right, here I am, listening to movie scores, thriving on the stillness of the night, knee-deep in the paragraphs I've drafted until now and it hits me. I realize who we are and I realize what we've become and I compile this overwhelming fear of you. I feel dread and everything in my mind comes crashing down on every civil thought I've gathered thus far and I lose myself in my own mind. I freak out and I start culling flashbacks like in some climactic movie where one's confusion is the most important element of everyone's life in that very moment. I suddenly despise you and I start thinking of all the things you've ever done wrong. I'm angry and I wish you could see the animosity in my eyes. And all at once I don't know you. But deep inside my bones, I know you're still there and with a morally, reawakened approach, I love you still.
There are those moments when you cross your fingers and sit tight, waiting for the right moment to jump in. There are those moments when you realize you actually do not know what you're doing, contrary to what your self has taught you. Those moments when you take a step back, though stepping forward was your very first intention. Those moments when you back down from the high and head straight to the down-lows of your mind. Those moments when you convince yourself that you aren't really like that, not at all. Those moments when you have to admit that you are like that, exactly like that. Always. Those moments when all you hear are the rushing and creaking sounds of the gears in your head, trying to decipher between the right phrases to use and the phrases that most absolutely should not be used. Those moments when you get too excited and too soft and you forget about everything you've written across your brain to keep track of. Those moments when it's time to play it out, you're calling action.And you've forgotten just quite how to make eye contact, how to breathe, speak, how to move. Those moments when all you see when you close your eyes are the things you wish you'd have said and done. Those moments when you try to relate to inanimate objects by talking incoherently to yourself and to your living room, bedroom, to your walls. Those moments when you stare out of windows in such a dramatic way that makes everything move ever-so-slowly, like directors portray their props in their films. Those moments when you make believe you have your own theme song and soundtrack that corresponds to your life as you stare into a fire, someone's eyes, into the sky. Those moments when you imagine that you are, in fact, a soundtrack and that you are a film with a theme song, with a romantic plot and all the right lyrics and scenes, characters, all the right songs. Then there are those moments when you realize you can't do what you love. Nor can you write about it.
If you'd ask me how I feel right now, this single, precise moment, I'd probably declare my goodnight and crawl deep inside my brain and hide for the entirety of my life.
Why do I feel like I'm broken into a million, horrible, bloody, awkward, beautiful, stupid, little pieces?
Terrible things were said but absolutely every word was true. Moments were fragile and worthwhile and we were hanging on every word. Hanging on desperation and addiction. Naivety almost settled for regret, so we lied and said I love you. Wide-eyes and silence enhanced our emotions to an utmost uncomfortable and we made a break for it. We agreed that it was perfect and that we were perfect, too.
Things were fine and love was impersonating what it could under such circumstantial mindless control. Doing it's best, I suppose. Roles were played and hope was lingering and lost. We were left there to sink into each other, stumbling to catch up with our thoughts and outrun our guilt. No truths to be justified. We nearly broke our own hearts and we slightly tortured our trust. We didn't think of the consequences that would occur nor of the tragedies that would embark.
"I know when you're younger you think,
'Oh when I'm an adult I'll have it all figured out and life will be so easy.'
And then as you get older you realize there are no real grown ups and nobody really knows what the hell they're doing."
Funny how we've had so many years come between us, making everyone else believe we've made islands of our past. So many years that you hoped would banish all the bad things as they grew longer. Years that just remind me of all the times I wanted it to be you that was new instead. The right kind of new.
I'll make you feel as thin as glass when I throw my words right at you. You'll appear as white as snow when I rip your heart out like I do. I'll make you wail and scream and cry until you've all but withered away. You'll gather your courage and strength to walk away and call it quits.
Lace yourself in booze and loose clothing and make sure to let go of your petty insurgence. No one likes an anarchist in a time like this. Before you stand, lift your eyes in that slow motion way that you'd always like to use to your advantage, what with your modest magnetism. Keep your mouth ajar because you know I'm too far from keen on your compression. And do not close your eyes. Move aside, a small step around the hypothetical obstacle, to make clear the path leading directly from me to you, then three small steps past the physical obstacle, because we'll absolutely need you over here instead of there. Now don't move at all. All this in such a speed that's clearly appropriate. All this in such a speed that makes the greatest of romance movies look like they were written with such a haste and uncertainty that it called for nothing more than a urged hand-hold rather than the desired slow-motion passion that they had originally foreseen. All this in such a speed that makes me feel like I'm waiting a lifetime for this standstill I've lead you to, before you appear precisely before the tip of my nose; This is exactly how I've imagined you. Next, answer those questions clouding your mind because we can only go forward if we act quick; Your silly little questions. Fake a flinch in spite but cover yourself in imitating fear and meet me halfway. You have a delicate mouth and you smell nice when I'm close to you; The kind of nice that makes the guitar riffs of my favorite song seem a bit more smooth and metrical, solely because you're present. The kind of nice that I feel when, by way of the wind, your hair is slightly brushing past your face and it tickles your nose but makes me laugh rather than you. The kind of nice that people think you aren't just because of how rude they assume you are. You aren't rude, you're clumsy. Like that of the very next moment when you drop your glass and let it shatter across your toes before declaring your embarrassment, ruining the entire scene and setting. Light up a cigarette and let it burn to breathe it in. Squint your eyes in that inviting way to make your face seem just the same. Press your lips and loosen them just as repetitively and quickly as the second before. Pretend to repeat the process as if those are the only actions allowed taken to fix your quiescent, little problems. Undercover again and overzealous again.
There are rules and regulations, trials and tribulations, but not one of them paid a visit since the day you held my hand; The day you turned innocence into ecstasy.
These brittle bits of bones withhold everything but a mere determination to take it and run. What's hardly shown is how you stow away the quickening of your eagerness.
What's left alone can only emulate the shattering of your glass and my thoughts, and the burning of your smoke and my courage.
I remember everything you've ever recited as if every moment we had was to be our ever-last.
Let us compromise.
Take your lies, put them on a pedestal, and multiply that by how many feelings you've ever encountered consisting of guilt and remorse. I'll take my thoughts of you, force them down your throat and subtract the morbid and offensive reminders that were ever so conveniently escaped under lack of self control.
I think we've come to the conclusion that nothing will be as contradicting as what we've done, what you've done and how I prevailed it. Theres no escaping that I feel you under my bones when I'm falling apart. And that I see you during the deepest of inappropriate moments. And I hear you when I'm trying not to hear anything at all. And I think of you when my mind is always at its crest. It follows me straight to my escape and it will follow me straight to my grave.
C'mon, do you really think it was that easy to forget about it? Only you would see me as her. She who doesn't mind. She who enjoyed it. She who exudes satisfaction of keeping secrets. She who craved the attention. She who longed to give you nothing more than ease and happiness and passed down peaks. But I wasn't her and she wasn't me. Your confusion is what put you there and it's how you got here.
You keep my mind at an escalating fear of settlement and apathy and if I could let you out, I would.
That's not so different compared to the facts you've had under control over the years, aye?
Here's to you.
Did you ever notice how time seems to slow down at night? How everything seems to be illuminated by flicks of light? How the smallest amount of light highlights the romance of the darkness? How dramatic your emotions get just because of how still the world has become and how calm everyone around you had shifted?
I always notice how you evolve into everything less than that; Everything less than the passion of night. You find the good in the stillness and you break it. You ruin it like a maker ruins his creation when he's so close to fixing it but so far away from finishing. You rip it apart then you start over. Psychotic, to say the least.
You don't notice how accidental you are. You're a mistake trying to take on the best of things when you can barely speak of sound contention. But you're not who you used to be, you're not that close to redemption anymore.
I want you to notice how pathetic you make me feel. I want you to notice how much I despise you and how foolish you make me act when I think of you. I want you to notice that you're strange and you're wrong. The apparatus you've become isn't even comparable to the cataclysm that makes you. You aren't worthy of a moment.
I notice the tragedy; Our tragedy. I notice the things you want to notice yet you never let me stay. I can't hang around because you won't let me see your life in failure. You're ashamed, as you should be. Because you live in a world where breaking happiness is rational and walking upright with your chin high is almost awkward. You live in a world where breathing at a normal pace is so foreign that you've forgotten just quite how to breathe. You live in a world where being in love is repulsive and holding hands is much like that of a criminal attack. You live in a world where I'm allowed no where near your peripheral sighting. Where I'm allowed a nonexistent amount of your wasted time. Where I'm allowed no more than a few unknowing glances past you, balanced on the furthest mountaintop of the earth. Where I'm allowed to move only in myself the way I want to only move in you. Where I'm allowed to tear open the thoughts I have for you and I receive none of yours.
You notice nothing. You deserve nothing.
She played her own heart like a movie as her story line became everything necessary. She transformed every feeling in present time into action, just the way the movies do. It was all in the way she pretended to be real. She made believe she was someone else for just the beginning and then she turned. It was all in the way she turned. In the way she moved.
The way her face looked just before she pressed her lips. The way the light barely touched her face only because it was bouncing off of everything else, seemingly showcasing her glow. The way her fingers traced nothing but the curves of her own feelings, turning them into the smallest of puppets coiled together by the strings; Only proving the justification of her mindset. The way her mouth turned fragile at the very moment her mind felt it, too, perfectly aligning themselves, thus becoming an emotional motion. The way her lightheadedness concluded the carelessness of dying in that moment.
She closed her eyes and everything she has held onto, everything she's held to be hopeful, was out. All the tiny little thoughts and the immense elation seemed to cancel out and bound the confusion.
And it broke me. It broke my heart into a million little pieces.
It never occurred to me how perfectly it made sense until it was thrown down and shattered on the floor.
I've brought this on us more than anyone could ignore what I've done, what I've done, what I've done.
The universe is cold.
Cold in literal and cold in demeanor.
Like the depths of your mind and the halves of your sentences.
Unknowingly, you're ruined.
I'm wondering how we've come to comprehend what we know when all it consists of is rumored humanity and aching intelligence.
We shout and we cry and we abide and we convert and we love and we hate and we wish for the things we've only been taught to wish for.
Hand-me-down desires and second-hand consequences.
And all we can do is aim for higher things, trusting that our bonds with real life aren't good enough and will never accomodate to our approximate conspiracies and our "almost" answers.
All you've known isn't real and all you'll hear are lies. It's easy for you to see the lacking fervor of life now that it's not what you'd expected, wanting only nothing but to leave.
But to which place will you go? To the moon? To the stars? To the core of the earth so that you can say you've been to the middle of it all? So that you can say you've met the standards and are now admitted and accepted to conduct the rumors and the qualifications of how we are to live our lives?
It's faulty encouragement.
It's a never-ending process.
There are no answers.
Justifying the hypocrisy through my own basis of proven point:
Rule number one is to stop looking for answers.
Rule number two is to never try and change humanity.
Rule number three is to always try and change humanity.
It's a subtle remembrance. That's all it takes then it's marked in the hollowed out books of reasoning to be played with and tampered.
Things aren't as whimsical as they used to be - As they should be.
Now I want to invent this for you; A mindset all your own. I could try and explain but that could contradict everything I've built up thus far. So take it and run until lucidity says stop. Until you can't breathe and you lose all animation to the extent of no mending. Put your hopes aside and your hands on my mind and take me. No one will know, yet everyone will see what it has become. You'll likely never understand but you can tell me when. That's what gives me you and that's when I say go.
Remember when everything we had was terrifying and bordering perfection? Remember when I said this will come back to haunt me as we sat by the motion light? The scintillation of the light took away from the calmness of the moment but it didn't alter the importance. The moment stills circles my mind. Too much thought and lacking progression. Sit tight and time won't move. Fingers crossed; Don't move an inch and we won't go anywhere. Now.
All the tunings of our minds never made anything vested and like the curves of our conversations, I separate and I fold. I'm calling a contradicting fixation that I can't relinquish but I'm apprehensive. All the marks, I imagine, are for me. They take me back to the last time we touched. And all the times when word got around. And the time when your words got the best of me: When I was slowing caving in but held my conduction.
Meanwhile, you rang in my head: Gentle was the accordance as we began. A deviant place yet somewhere familiar. Taking time and attaining patient faces. Something turned and the division broke us; You weren't you and I was fully me. Come back, I'll give you nothing less. It was the placement that addled you. Say it was.
It's you playing inside the context. You're clueless and blinded yet your mind already touches it. My promises are yours.
Like bass guitars and violins. All this in slow motion. All this in pandemonium.
Come down from there and wait with me. All it takes is otherwise and we're lost. Loosen your grip and stay.
Close your eyes. The stillness will keep us calm should our minds wander.
Breathe in. Breathe out for longer.
This is nothing.
It should be nothing.
Why isn't it nothing?
At first I didn't recognize you yet, ironically, I called shotgun. I was talking to you, our voices sharing familiarity. I was holding something, something small and pointless. I never looked up. Your hat cast a shadow over your eyes, the sun illuminating them in flicks as you drove. I swear we could have fit into another decade, our clothes in bright colors and loud material. You caught my attention, saying something of importance. I regret my lack of recollection. My smile was erased and drawn into something oblong. You grinned and squinted, keeping your peripherals on my silhouette and your stare on the horizon. Forward, (a few fictitious decades later) you're at one end of the table, your arms are crossed. That look never changed. You leaned forward onto the tabletop, one arm down, one hand by your chin. Your thumb tracing your bottom lip, going side to side. I was hopeful. You almost seemed it. My silent interrogation.
It's a strange feeling. It's one of those days when you wake up and the impression that your dreams have left make every moment further a matter of debating on coincidence or fate. It's when that song comes on the radio when it really shouldn't have. It's when the day goes on and you're drunk with questions and overwhelmed with possibilities. It's when that one factor sets everything up for evaluation at the end of the day. What if my realization makes yours? How does humanity actually work? We have it all wrong, I'm sure. We've no more room for theories and warnings, advice and experts. It's just those that need adjusting. I'm keeping steady and I'm easing away. I'm inching closer to my promises that I've yet to carry out. If there was ever a time I needed you more, it'd be now. I'm sorry I can't always find the words to say, but everything I've ever known gets swept away.
In the palms of my hands are the only thing I have left. It's safe and it's holding. It was once abound in my fingertips and across my face; on my lips and through my veins. Now it's barely surviving in the hold of my hands. Barely committing to the sound of elation. Barely reminding me of the good.
For my disposition keeps nothing but anguish and the first taste of affirmation.
I was only trying to figure it out. I had eyes of hope and a heart of plea.
You had every right but not one of them were. I woke up and seen you and my mind was curving.
Your shirt on my back, your hand on my knee; My heart in your hands, my unease turned facing. Look me in the face and tell me you can't see it.
In teaching myself what I'd already learned, I have yet to maintain it. There's really nothing to compare and nothing to say. The limb I'm on has been breaking for a while and you're not even close.
I'm only backing down and blaming you because you promised me you knew. You promised me I'd be fine and with my breakdown and my mistakes, you've changed your mind.
It's the chance I'd rather know.
You don't know what you got 'till its gone. It's like a whole part of me is missing. My heart is hollow and my mind is cluttered. I'm dumbfounded and there's nothing I can do about it because apparently it's the last thing I have to do. The serenity is gone. The innocence, the imagination, the future and the fantasies; Gone. This time it will never go back to being the same. Still believing in that same youthful hope, my determination and my aspiration will be the death of me. I'm not leaving without a fight. This time, I can't handle it. I will have this.
I'm counting the trees as they pass by the window, you're counting the seconds as they pass on the road. I'm pretending I'm invincible, I can fly. You're pretending your goal isn't to bring me down. I'm shaking, you're looking. Then down.
I'll show you my scars and you'll smile. I'll mention my pain and you'll laugh. I'll lock myself up and you'll convince me it's fine.
I'll continue taking note of your expression as you continue smoking away your nerves. I'll stare at the moonlight shadows and you'll search for your story. You'll test your distractions and I'll manage my dignity. I'll remember the frigid air and you'll remember your mistake. I'll give you hope and you'll thrive to take it. You'll be kind and I'll be alone.
I'll show you I have nothing and you'll have everything.
She tasted of hopelessness and romance. The kiss of death, I'd assume. Her eyes were dark, her heart holding the highest of thrones. Her hands held nothing but fear, dangling from the fingertip of her smallest finger. The sound of her breath fading in and out, the sharpness of her beating heart, the trembling of her shoulders; She was weak with sadness. I almost held her but I awaited her ill-timed approval. She kept inhaling deeply. "Shake it off, shake it off" I'd wanted to say.
I could almost touch her.
She could almost feel me.
So close, but she never opened her eyes. "Just look at me!" The words almost jumped from my tonsils.
I said nothing.
She just stood there.
I paced in circles around her, stopping in front of her with each time I'd pass.
She was still.
I was still.
She never moved. I was begging and pleading inside and it killed me not to take her hands; Her needy hands, lifelessly hanging by her hips.
She smelled of haste, her heart rendering pursuit. I kept wondering how someone so still could emanate such eagerness. I couldn't leave her alone. I had to go but I couldn't. I liked to think she wanted me to stay.
There was something about the way she'd breathe.
There was something about my ample adoration of her yearning no despair.
The sweetness of her cheeks as she barely held her hands to them as if quietly examining them with her fingers as she cried. The remorse on the backs of her eyelids as her eyes darted back and forth behind them. I just needed her to look at me. Everything would disappear if she could see me.
She needed me. My hesitation and delay caused her this.
She needed me.
I could sum everything up. I could say it isn't fair. I could lie and I could manage it. I could do a lot of aimless things in hopes of proving them allusive. Confusion is tangible with one extreme to the other. I want to turn out the lights. I want to hide away in my closet, deceptively too big to keep me hidden. I want to push you further and further away until it's impossible to take the slightest clue and thrive on it to find you. I try to find something to keep me here. I find it and I fight to cling to it claiming, "I can't be selfish." Sometimes the debate isn't enough. My one and only admiration, specifically, is all I have to hold on to and though I'm clutching it with every indication of sanely surviving, it's that very reverence that annihilates and proves I'm failing it. How is this even supposed to work? Am I supposed to be selfish? Do I not even think twice? That's impractical. I contradict everything I ever do. Where were you when I was practical? On with your idle intentions and up with your arrested interventions.
I will abide if you want and I'll keep my austerities prolonging. I will reject your suggestions only to deny your concern. But now I need you to neglect everything I say to be undeniable and take it as my atonement. My proclaiming plea.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry in all of it's forms. How many times do I have to break down and lose control for you to see? Is it you that I should blame or is it myself? It's not a fairy tale, my Knight in shining armor, it's real. Come save me.
Today I realized how much I've missed you. Everything you've ever done to betray me, whether big or small, had vanished for that split moment when I noticed. The past came back, the good parts. The future seemed alright and I imagined making things work, making things better. I imagined you making things better, making things work. I could almost hear the innocence in your voice. I could smell the old familiar smells and hear the old familiar words we'd say. It was almost awkward but I let that go. I wanted you back. The way you used to be before now. Maybe I could turn everything around and press pause; delete everything we know now and press play. Then maybe we'd be fine. I never liked the feeling I got when we were together facing rational colloquy but it was only the illogical moments that made me feel okay. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be. I never had you but now that everything is coming up and coming out, I miss you. Maybe I just need to have more admission. Maybe I just need to have more realizations like these. Maybe it's always been me, not you. There's too much going on for me to not miss you. I guess I just need you in times like these. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? Need you? Nah. Impromtu. To be continued.
It's a melancholy bargain. One that I can't hold my loyalty to. I've waited this long, and for what? Exactly what I've awaited? It's nothing but a surplus of self-regard and a lack of keeping your mutuality. I can't carry it anymore. It's not fair. It's all on me. Everything is happening because I arranged it to happen. How can I go back? I wanted to go back and you wouldn't have it. The accountability isn't yours. But you lured me in as if nothing was ever depraved. Confusion, fabrication, assurance... none of that matters. If I've ever been at a loss for words even in composing these words in this silly little blog, it'd be now. What am I feeling? Will you tell me. Please.
I'm not who you think I am but it's too late now. You're in. You promised. And I'll watch you run away only to beat yourself up over my "I told you so's" you denied before. Go on and pretend this is nothing
I'd give anything. An understanding, an idea, a sense of hope. I feel like I'm broken into a million little pieces, all of them varying from every possible perception to ever exist. I want to give up. Forever. I've tried everything. At times it's perfect and other times I can't even find the right thought to think. No one should settle for a bad occurrence in their lives, accepting it as their destiny. But now, tonight, there's no way out. There was a hint of comprehension for a brief moment, so I thought. That's gone. It's more complicated now. No one can understand it because no one knows. It cynically helps that I take a piece of every incident and carry it firmly with me for the next time around and at the end of it all, I'll have the most abundant figurative collection of hindrances that has ever existed. I'll break a record and I'll be famous. Famous for my desolation and futility. Yeah... then it will all be better. Just turn away from me. Go away and everything will get easier. But then come back. Stay as usual so I can weaken. When is it safe to authorize my official abdication? Has it already happened or does something have to happen to portray it? I refrain.
I've got this all wrong. Looking around now, everything has unknowingly changed. Realizations and moments of happiness. Come back. The innocence. The ignorance. It's beginning to make sense. Everything and nothing. It's not confusion, it's you. Please don't go. Don't leave me alone to do this on my own. You've almost got it, right where we're supposed to be. I'm doing this so slowly, giving time and being patient. It's enough. Just stay for a while, things aren't the same since you've gone. No one knows me. I don't know them. Throw away your obstinacy and come home. Here. Help me. It's always wrong. And it's almost right this time. Just stay a little longer... Long enough for me to keep you for when I need you. Forever. I'm ready now. I'm not settling. It's different now. I can't let go this time. I'm almost losing. I'm losing.
I wish I could say it. I wish I could say it. I wish I could say it.
Faulty idioms; I'm reluctant.
I'm left with more than I can take. I can barely make it through the night, clinging to the concept of exemption, evidently lying within the structure of this computer screen and not where it's supposed to be. Nothing I want to be real is fit to be certain and I'm suffocating. From you? Impossible.
"I'm misleading... Never mind, I contradict it." I can't force myself to like this game anymore.
Begging, begging, begging. Then I quit.
I'm not who you think I am but it's too late now. You're in. You promised. And I'll watch you run away only to beat yourself up over my "I told you so's" you denied before. Go on and pretend this is nothing. Pretend I'm bluffing. The girl who cried wolf. There's no way to explain it to be true. Just trust me?
Don't take this lightly. Don't take me lightly. There's nothing left of me, it's inevitable. Take it or leave it.
You claim you know. You don't. Pretending isn't necessary. I'm fooling you, your assumptions prove me just.
Do you have to make me feel like I'm not really aware? I'm angry. I'm sorry. I'm defeated.
This isn't confusion. It's your misunderstanding that for me it's extant and for you it's "perhaps" obtainable. I don't require answers. I want assurance.
My legs dangle lifelessly over the bedside. I barely squirm toward the edge until my feet drop to the floor. I search for the power to open my eyes, my eyelids begging me otherwise, as if knowing the ruin they'd see. I convince myself that I'm alive and I barely feel my heart beating. Everything turns motionless. Everything toughens. Everything reverses. Everything hurts. Everything weakens. I consider giving in.
Everything is imperative. A sense of dread consumes my thoughts before I even perceive my aura. I ache. I hesitate. I stand. It takes me only a few drowsy moments to regain my strength then the pain begins. I slowly find my way to the bedroom door. With every step comes a yearn to turn around and fall back into bed. Nothing can harm me there. Nobody can harm me there.
It's one of those secrets you don't know how to tell yet when it's out everything seems to be better. Only it's not. It's hard to handle when you're right in front of me. Your obligation to be apathetic. My brooding the avidity. I want things to go back to before when everything was aimless.
Maybe I'm thinking too far in. Maybe you'll understand. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you stand for more. Perchance.
I'm breaking what's left of my bravery and dragging you directly to the center of the problem for interrogation.
I bet you know nothing about this but I can assume it is possible.
It's my lamentation to heal that contradicts and lapses. And lapses. And lapses.
Here I go again, annihilating myself, blaming myself over and over again aimlessly. Blah, blah, blah.
By now I think that saying my thoughts are irrational is an understatement. The better I seem to think I am, the worse I feel. I keep writing in this blog which seems to be my only obvious friend and it actually makes me feel a bit better. It's as if I'm talking to someone who cares; Someone, regardless of their incapability to speak, who listens. I'm saying everything I want to say to everyone I want to say it to in this collection of words. Nothing else matters when I'm writing. Nothing but the hope and wishful thinking of having a real someone to talk to. I have friends. Great friends. But the dismal part of it all is that it doesn't seem real. I've lost a few friends here and there but losing the ones I actually love is the agonizing part. I can't act like a good friend when I can't even gather my mindless thoughts around the actual normality of a friendship. I've lost something so important that I'm declared useless to having anyone else come as close as it.
I'll, one day, be a best friend to someone who understands me. Until then, I'm packing up my despair and I'm taking it to my grave. There's no doubt about that.
Not much has changed. A few messy thoughts and confusing encounters here and there but nothing more.
I've, yet again, reattached myself to learning how to get my mindset straightened out. I'm trying harder. Things look up then look away but it's all about patience and recovery, right?
Something in particular happened while I was "away" and though now my mentality is a bit more motivated than before, old familiar thoughts and worries are randomly rushing back because of something so simple. Something that was obviously intended to be cleared up but was only messed up even more. And it's still all me. My fault. No self pity, no expectance, just my mistake.
And I miss things.
Then I hate those things until I'm sick. Only it just goes 'round and 'round in a sort of cycle, flustering my mind until I don't even know what I miss anymore. It's as if I reach my highest highs then fall into my lowest lows all in the same moment in time and I begin to miss the most irrational of things making everything seem better when it really isn't at all.
I just need things to be back to the way they were before. Before all this "mental clarity" stuff happened. Before my misgiving outlooks and aberration.
Still distressed, same complaints and still the same.
There's no denying that I've been a bit more happy than usual for the past few weeks. Though, at the same time, it's as if my mind has mixed feelings about how it wants me to feel. It's draining to say the least. Everything that I've vowed to no longer be existent is reputedly creeping back to me. I've tried forgetting all the things detrimental in my life but it's not working, it never seems to work. Whether these certain things physically return or mentally, it's all the same.
I've been a bit more optimistic. I've not been bothered by an ex-friend and their spouse anymore. Matty is seemingly learning a new word every day. I finally got a chance to see my best friend after so long. And the coming week is planned to be very productive.
I watched you sleep last night. When I couldn't sleep. I was reading for a long time so you were fast asleep. I gave you a kiss and you didn't crinkle your nose and lower your eyebrows like you always do when I try to kiss you as you sleep. I lie on my back and stared at the ceiling fan for maybe an hour; You know how I get a night. I thought a lot. Mostly about you. A little about everything. I'd close my eyes and try to fall asleep to dream of you but when I did I'd only see the darkness of the back of my eyelids. It was quiet so I listened to you breathe for a long time. I was unusually still, except for when you'd turn over. I even held your hand for a while as if we were standing upright together. I felt like you were holding my hand instead of me holding yours. I felt safe. I surprisingly fell asleep lying on my back, clutching your hand in an aimless attempt to sleep.
It made me realize how amazing you are. It made me remember how I fell for you when we were younger. How we used to contemplate our own theories about love and fate and question why I never thought about marriage. Even then I knew I'd marry you. I knew if I were ever to spend the rest of my days with anyone, it was to be with you. You were the only person to ever make me feel the way you made me feel. And so it still goes. With all the anguish I've been enduring for the past year, you've been my security. You've been my hero. You take me back to when I first fell in love with you. You remind me of everything good. Of everything love is considered to be.
You are, without a doubt, the only person I've honestly ever adored to an extent of madness. I'm in love with your allure, with your scent, with your family, with your honor, with your articulation; I'm in love with your entirety. And I will never be able to definitively construe that.
Remember the day you proposed to me? You were holding me. You kept kissing me. Talking to me about how much you cared for me. Comforting me as I was inconveniently sick, causing me to unintentionally ruin the attempt for your plans to fall through. That... That is what I live for. Our humanity. Our mistakes and our accomplishments. Our intimacy. You and I.
Everything I once was is now so far from my reach that it's impossible to rebuild.
I know I've not been enough but I've definitely tried to be something. A big part of my life has been about pleasing you and wanting you to see the good in me. You used to be able to see everything in me and now you're so far away that I'm constantly having to rely on myself to find you. Although, you always knew where I was, mentally and physically.
It seems as though now I've somewhat diverted my whole attention away from you because I felt that you betrayed me. In reality, I know you'd never do anything of the sort.
I've never needed you more than I do now; During these small moments when I feel that all my hope is gone and all my sanity could be lost.
All I want is for things to be like they were. Things were always involving you. Involving me making you happy.
Maybe that's been my problem all along. Am I this lost without you?
I think everyone has the same question.
"Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident."
I try to keep my mind at bay during everything that's going on, yet I always know where I'll end up. I'm wishing I could pour my heart out in this silly blog site whereas, in reality, there's no way I could come close to pouring anything out of me in this predicament I'm in.
I don't understand what I've done wrong. Aside from every little thought in my mind having it's own way of ruining things, I'm lost. Moving on from these sort of things is something I was never really good at. Maybe I'm just being selfish. Maybe I'm just mad. Either way, it's all my fault. It's always been my fault. I always wanted to be straightforward about this. Yet, here I am.
When I was younger, I wish that I would have known better. Better love makes a fat romance that lasts for more than a shoe shine. I'm older, took all the words of my mother saying, "it could be worse, could be born with that disease instead of catching it first." So let's go back to the first time that I met you in your Chevy with your hands stretched and me crying, screaming, "Mercy, Mercy!" But I know that I was put here to fight Vikings in the cold war with my arms out in the front lines singing, "Dare me, Dare me!"
But these things take time love. These things take backbone. And they'll tell you what you want to hear 'cause they think it's better, better. But you better know how to point out the liars. You've got to weigh your wars make sure you're not fighting for nothing. Are you fighting for nothing? It feels like this world has been growing slowly upside down. Maybe I should move to China, and straighten this mess out. Maybe I'll be a poet. Watch all the sky for falling words. And write about my grandma's curtains or the lady who put the Chinese buffet in her purse.
I've got my mouth. It's a weapon. It's a bombshell. It's a cannon. I've got my words. I won't give them mercy. Mercy. I've got my words. I hope they hurt you. I hope they scar you. I hope they heal you. I hope they cut you open, make you see you've been warring for all the wrong reasons. Make you see that some things are worth bruising for. Make you see that your name is your honor code. Make you see that your hands you're accounted for. Pick and choose where your sweat and your blood will go. Make you see your life's not to be lived alone. Run their spit through your hair, you're worth nothing. Nothing
Everything I write in this consequence of words I call my blog never seems to do my mind any justice. This is supposed to help. Does it?
It's always worry. It's pausing and replaying in my mind, that certain time in my life that meant everything to me only because it ruined me. My subjective innocence is gone. At the peak of the new me, everything crumbled. It's me making everything the way it is now. It's me making the mistakes and making the yesterdays come back to life. Every place I go I take a whole different part of myself from that point in time and throw it in the face of my frame of mind. Taunting it. Seeing how far I can really go with so many parts, so many phases, personalities, changes.
They always say when you think you're alone, you aren't. They say there's always someone else going through a similar stage or predicament. I differ. I refuse to agree with something that's merely just a ray of hope.
Wait it out; I know, I know. Is this procrastination yet again or am I finally going to be proven wrong?
It's strange. I thought I'd forget by now. I thought everything would be better and not so dramatic after so long. A lot of things changed after I actually found out. I don't like it. But for the wrong reasons? Should I even care? Does it even matter now?
Everything is lost and so am I. I'm right back where I started all because of one person. A person who in the past would have meant nothing to me.
I finally have what I want with no one to ruin it.
On another note: I knew she wouldn't understand. I guess I could have took into consideration that it wasn't quite what she knew how to work with. Now I'm stuck with a so called "solution" that does nothing but make things worse. However, I give her props. She did what she thought was right. Just not for me.
I never thought I'd meet a person that is the complete definition of an oxymoron. I feel relieved, however, that I can finally not be bothered with all the questions. Everything that happened was a pointless waste of time. I know the feeling is mutual.
I'm still finding it hard to believe how quickly someone literally disappeared out of my life. Friends now or not, he still meant a lot to me. Betrayal can come in the utmost strangest and most disguised ways. I don't even know what happened. Do I deserve closure or am I just convincing myself I deserve it considering the random cut-off of our friendship and how it's taken it's toll on me mentally and physically?
I contemplate with myself whether or not I understand. Yet, how could I understand when reality hasn't even brought him to make me understand.
I'll probably continue to ask myself questions about this. Isn't that okay? Though, I know nothing from him... isn't that where closure is supposed to come in? Everyone gets their closure, right? Do I just wait for it or am I the one who's meant to live without it?
Sigh. So many questions; knowing they're never to be answered. We were supposed to trust each other and be best friends forever...
I'm nervous and scared. I can't tell her how I feel. It's relevant in order to be successful with the situation but what happens when what I'm supposed to say is the entire problem?
"Hey lady, be my friend, I've got stories to tell you." It's not that simple.
Is it all in my head? Am I just overreacting? I don't think so. This is real and it's all I've got. So I'm kicking everything out of the way of what's supposed to be helping me. It's all on me this time.
I have my computer back. It wasn't broken during all this time, go figure. I love staring at my Christmas tree at night time. There's just something about the simplicity and dim-lightedness that makes it so relaxing and romantic.