I wrote this one awhile ago on Facebook but decided to republish it here, because it's less poetry like and more prose. It's one of my favorites.I always pause those cute movies at the best parts. I try to relive the moment, over and over again; maybe then the feeling of being a zombie will wash away and I'll start to breathe again. Maybe I pick up the paintbrush, make a few strokes on the canvas and begin to smile again. But it doesn't happen. When you left that night you took everything with you, all of it. You took my laugh, my smile, my beating heart and every single happy memory is now shrouded with guilt. What did I say to make you want this? What could I have done differently?
I pretend that it never happened but then I can hear it in your voice. You won't love me. I try to be that manipulative person, but it doesn't work. You're impenetrable to the darkest of guises, the worst of tricks. So I play the according music and hang my head low. I try to recover, I try to move on. But, part of me doesn't want to. Part of me keeps looking backwards instead of forwards, and in the end all I want to do is hope: that you'll call and tell me to catch the next bus in.
It never happens. Night after night of staring at the ceiling, the stars, the voile panels shifting in the wind of the fan... you never call. You probably would if I told you to, but what would I say? I don't know how to react anymore, because I don't ever want to be just friends. And really, that's probably all we'll ever be. I'm a goofy person, I make mistakes. The biggest mistake of our relationship is that it never happened. That I never said anything sooner. That I said something at all.
I play artist for awhile. I put on a mask, my makeup reminiscent of high school: the last time my world fell through. I put too much faith in you, too much stock into a failing company. I pulled the wrong block and let it all come falling down. And the worst part of it all is that it's still falling: I refuse to rebuild or repair, I want to wallow in this pain. Feeling low and down is better than feeling nothing. For years I haven't felt anything other than short bouts of giddy with short bouts of guilt. I thought happiness was within grasp, but it wasn't.
Numbness is followed by realization, realization followed by pain. Pain seeps through back to numbness. It's grief, it's guilt and too much caffeine. I wish I could tell you what's going on inside my head. I don't think you're ready for that, though. I would never know what to do to make you happy, because I can't even make myself happy. I could never have a relationship with you because I'd just bring you down, and make you into a sullen, contemplative man.
I keep staring into the mirror beside me. Not because I like what I see. I don't know who is staring back at me. I've lost that self-awareness, the self-as both object-subject (shut up Sartre) that I've come to enjoy.. All I see is someone who looks so sad, so upset, but won't ever realize how beautiful the world is
and how many people around her love and care for her. All she wants is to fade away. It's like a little light being blown out, and she's waiting for someone to light it back up again.
I'm fine. I'm honestly fine. I've never felt better in my whole life. But that goes without saying. Pain followed by more pain. I'll never understand why loneliness is such a hateful thing, or why I can't seem to make myself feel better. Meek smiles brought by walks through parks and green trees; awkward laughter brought by the best of friends and comedy, but there's always something missing.
It sure as hell can't be you.
I refuse to let you think you broke me. I'm better than that. It's the thought of you that did. The thrill, the thought of somehow finding that someone who is exactly like me in almost every way, that thrill is what broke my heart in the end. It collapsed and died, and my will along with it.
I guess I'm in repair, again. It brings sense to the expression new and improved, it brings a little life back into my eyes. It's just getting over that hurdle of the will; the self-destructive piteous will that refuses to let you go. Like you let me go.
I`m cool, I`m calm, I`m going to be okay.
I pretend that it never happened but then I can hear it in your voice. You won't love me. I try to be that manipulative person, but it doesn't work. You're impenetrable to the darkest of guises, the worst of tricks. So I play the according music and hang my head low. I try to recover, I try to move on. But, part of me doesn't want to. Part of me keeps looking backwards instead of forwards, and in the end all I want to do is hope: that you'll call and tell me to catch the next bus in.
It never happens. Night after night of staring at the ceiling, the stars, the voile panels shifting in the wind of the fan... you never call. You probably would if I told you to, but what would I say? I don't know how to react anymore, because I don't ever want to be just friends. And really, that's probably all we'll ever be. I'm a goofy person, I make mistakes. The biggest mistake of our relationship is that it never happened. That I never said anything sooner. That I said something at all.
I play artist for awhile. I put on a mask, my makeup reminiscent of high school: the last time my world fell through. I put too much faith in you, too much stock into a failing company. I pulled the wrong block and let it all come falling down. And the worst part of it all is that it's still falling: I refuse to rebuild or repair, I want to wallow in this pain. Feeling low and down is better than feeling nothing. For years I haven't felt anything other than short bouts of giddy with short bouts of guilt. I thought happiness was within grasp, but it wasn't.
Numbness is followed by realization, realization followed by pain. Pain seeps through back to numbness. It's grief, it's guilt and too much caffeine. I wish I could tell you what's going on inside my head. I don't think you're ready for that, though. I would never know what to do to make you happy, because I can't even make myself happy. I could never have a relationship with you because I'd just bring you down, and make you into a sullen, contemplative man.
I keep staring into the mirror beside me. Not because I like what I see. I don't know who is staring back at me. I've lost that self-awareness, the self-as both object-subject (shut up Sartre) that I've come to enjoy.. All I see is someone who looks so sad, so upset, but won't ever realize how beautiful the world is
and how many people around her love and care for her. All she wants is to fade away. It's like a little light being blown out, and she's waiting for someone to light it back up again.
I'm fine. I'm honestly fine. I've never felt better in my whole life. But that goes without saying. Pain followed by more pain. I'll never understand why loneliness is such a hateful thing, or why I can't seem to make myself feel better. Meek smiles brought by walks through parks and green trees; awkward laughter brought by the best of friends and comedy, but there's always something missing.
It sure as hell can't be you.
I refuse to let you think you broke me. I'm better than that. It's the thought of you that did. The thrill, the thought of somehow finding that someone who is exactly like me in almost every way, that thrill is what broke my heart in the end. It collapsed and died, and my will along with it.
I guess I'm in repair, again. It brings sense to the expression new and improved, it brings a little life back into my eyes. It's just getting over that hurdle of the will; the self-destructive piteous will that refuses to let you go. Like you let me go.
I`m cool, I`m calm, I`m going to be okay.
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