The rest of the world sucks more than you.
You disappoint me. You push me down. You make me feel empty. That the things I care about don’t matter. I make these realizations.
Then the life happens. And I realize – everyone else sucks more than you do.
And I only want to talk about it with you.
I have a spectrum of fragments of relationships. pieces of me are given away. but never enough to make anything real.
Although i want more… I can’t help but create, relish these relationships. the fragments that i own, i own. they are mine. i can control them.
they never want enough.
i am only a sliver of his life, but he is my whole world.
in those few moments, in that sliver of his world, I am his entire world. I matter more than anything. But during the rest of the time i don’t matter, he wouldn’t even recognize me on the street.
i don’t doubt that he loves me, but is it just not enough? am i not enough? but i only exist to him in a fleeting moment. he is so much a part of me and my world and i am merely a blip on his.
my expectations are my enemy.
they let me down over and over again. and i continue to fall for them – they lure me in with sunshine and happiness only to let me fall into an abyss.
an abyss of self-loathing and darkness. of being let down by the one person that i thought understood me. loved me. but once again, the possibilities fall out of line. this is not a fairy tale. this is not a happily ever after. and my anticipation knows that – harness it and fosters it – and uses it against me.
just like every year, my sunny childhood built up a possibility of glee and delight. only to come crashing down around me. and i only have myself to blame.
my maturity and years don’t help to squash the dreams of the possibilities.
“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
i can still smell you on me.
but the smell is fading. faded.
the smell, your smell reminds me of you. of days when it was less complicated. days when i didn’t want, when i didn’t need more.
days when i was content wasting time talking to you. discussing music and books. listening to the playlist you made me.
it has washed off of me now. and i don’t think i will ever get it back.
but i crave that smell. I need it.
a time when nothing made sense, but everything made sense.
now it is a puzzle. unsolvable.
i wish that i could take it back. but i know, if given the choice i would still love you.
and nothing would change.
and once again my choices betray me.
you want me but you don’t.
you wont let me go but wont ask me to stay.
you ask me to stay but only when you know that I can’t.
you want me. but only so no one else can have me.
you drag me down this path of deceit with you. you want me. But for all the wrong reasons. Not for who i truly am.
you won’t let go of me. even though you need to.
you won’t set me free.
you want me.
but you don’t love me
you desperately cling to me. unable to give me up.
but you don’t love me. No matter what you say.
you know better. you have to know better. but despite that, you won’t let me go.
I am messy. I am dysfunctional. I am fucked up. But I only let you see the pieces that I’ve carefully crafted. The pieces that I want you to see.
you think you’ve seen my messy,destructive behavior. you think you know all about me. and you think you love it all. But you don’t. All you see is a manipulation. An image pieced bit by bit together to give you what you want, what you crave. an arranged construction.
everything you see is a projection. none of it is real. a blueprint of your innermost desires.
and to you, I’m just an innocent. just a girl. a girl that you enjoy corrupting.
But you are wrong. I am a fucking woman. And you have no clue what you’re dealing with.
And with a woman, you don’t realize until it is too late.
I am color. almost real. just a trick of light and your perception.
without you, i am colorless. i am nothing. when you look at me, i become real.
but all i really am is a reflection of light. simply vibrations. and without you there to witness it, i do not exist.
All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.
I suppose cliches happen for a reason.
Like they are relateable. Like they happen time and time again.
So here I am being predictable and cliche, writing about grass being green. Usually when it is on the other side.
Once it is gone, I miss it. For years, it was watching over my shoulder…pushing me to pull me closer. And I resented it. I was fearful of it. I repeatedly held back, pushing it away. And now, all I want in the world is to hold it so tight and never let it go.
And now that it is gone I miss it. I only appreciate it now that it is gone. What a damn cliche.
“The reason that clichés become clichés is that they are the hammers and screwdrivers in the toolbox of communication.”
― Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
“Maybe there’s something you’re afraid to say, or someone you’re afraid to love, or somewhere you’re afraid to go. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt because it matters.”
John Greene, Will Grayson, Will Grayson