It's terrifying to be this upbeat and happy and pleasant. It's worse than being observed through a microscope. At the end of the day, you think and ponder as to the reason for such an attitude.
I do it because I don't like the alternative.
It pains me to think that I have to spend the rest of my life making up for a mistake I made.
Yes, I hurt you. Yes, I hurt everyone dear to me.
And I'm sorry.
You don't have to punish me forever for it.
It's pathetic that her relationships are all virtual. Make believe men who call her pet names that make her blush. Words on screen, typed to make her feel like she's worth something. And she knows it's not real and she knows they're just that - cheap words that are either half meant or just a usual or expected response to a stimulus.
But she believes them. She believes they're really true and they're meant for her, just for her. Because she knows, that's the closest she'll ever get to love. So, she craves for it. She spends a lot of money to just catch a glimpse of any activity; to see if he's thought of her or mentioned her.
And she feels even more pathetic when she begs for the attention, the fake affection and the polite responses.
She's reduced to this. She's reduced to being a scavenger for scraps that aren't even real.
But she'll take what she can get. She'll take whatever she can because really, there's nothing left for her. There's nobody left to offer her anything.
No one bothers with worthless things.
All this pain
All this hurt
All these tears
I just want someone to blame
I want someone to take the responsibility
And say “I did that to her”
But there’s nobody to blame
So I punish myself instead
I want to fall into madness
And welcome it like a lover
But I can’t even
Be strong for that.
I’m alone
And lonely
And afraid
And helpless
And hopeless
And nobody knows
I’ve become so good
In showing people
What they want to see;
What I know they can
And want to handle
That I’ve forgotten
How to ask for help
For myself
I’m tired
But I can’t rest.
Everyone wants a piece of me
That they just want to throw away
Or ignore
Or sell out.
I have nothing left for myself
So what’s there to give?
I’m too angry to be panicked
Too frightened to be in rage
Too blind to stop fighting
Too confused to be sane
I want to know what surrender tastes like
I want to hear
That I am loved
Truly loved
Without me
Having to say it first
Or having to ask for it
Or even beg for it.
There’s nothing
Fashionable
About wearing desperation
On your sleeve.
I wish I could forget
About before
About all
The things I’ve done wrong
And just remember
What I’ve done right.
You collect love
and kisses
the way
I collect
my dignity and
broken heart
on the floor.
I sift through
all the things
left undone
and all the
words left
unsaid
and find myself
coming back
for a little
bit more.
Maybe if I
carry your
burdens and
battle your
demons for you
you'll learn
to love me
too.
I lust after the God you worship. I want to believe in him the same way you believe that He will give you the signs on what to do and who to love. I want to believe in the miracles you orgasm over. I want to feel the bliss you work so very hard for and earn with acts of random kindness.
But I offer no positive reciprocity. No enthusiasm on your interpretation of the good book.
I just politely nod and smile.
You're my most cruel obsession
You'll pull me in just to shove me away
making sure
I bruise somehow
every time.
Uncertainty is
the most evil
quality of our love.
That,
and the fact
that this is one sided.
Unrequited.
I'm still here though
just waiting
for the next punishment;
for any sight of you
affection, a sliver
of your love;
a splinter of care.
Anything from you
is better than nothing;
better than loneliness.
"I'm not pretty" she says.
He kisses her instead. He wants to tell her how pretty she is but she'll never believe him. Especially now.
I don't know what's more unbearable: That you're too faraway from me or that you're here, just there where I can reach you, touch you but I'm not allowed to.
The first time you do it is a mistake. A miscalculation, a lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness - shameful, needy, weak and regrettably unforgettable. Third time you do it, it's a habit. A constance, a behavior, an addiction, a craving - a sin. The second time you do it bridges the expanse and the infinitesimal gap.
The second time has intent. It's premeditated. It's planned and thought through. It has courage and bravery. It has a First Move.
So, here's my First Move:
I miss you. There I've said it.
I think I might be in love with you. I've said it for the both of us so you don't need to take the burden. Be happy to know that your ego and pride are unbruised.
Whoever said that the person to make the first move is the weak one does not know shit about anything. It takes a lot of courage, strength and guts to make the first move.
Your turn...
He looks at her as if she were something he could get to keep.
She looks at him and can't wait to get far away as possible.
People really do have different perspectives in life.
Something broken finds its way back together again inside her when he said "It's an open invitation. No expiration date. I just miss you so much. You're everything I know I want."
A couple sat across her, signing their entire conversation. She averts her eyes and blushes. She feels like she's eavesdropping.
***
Sign language is so graceful, so polite. There's no probability of talking over each other unless you swat the hands away. And all you have to do to ignore the other person is to just close your eyes.
"Why does my approval matter so much to you? You know you don't need it to do what you want."
She pursed her lips and scowled at him like he was bequeathed the answer to the meaning of life and blew his nose in it. "Because it's yours. That's all that matters."
"She'll only break your heart, it's a fact. And even though I warn you, even though I guarantee you that the girl will only hurt you terribly, you'll still pursue her. Ain't love grand?"
- Nora Digger Dinsmoor, Great Expectations
Of all the things you could've insisted on...
Of all the things you could've asked me for...
I wish you hadn't asked me to let you go.
I've always wondered what your goodbyes would taste like.
Your face so close to mine - where I can't see your imperfections but I could taste them.
