That all the poems and posts you wrote
That all the songs and lyrics you posten
Weren’t meant for me
I didn’t want to believe it.
it hurt when I stumbled across her.
she was like broken glass all along the floor.
but it was beautiful and my curiosity got the best of me.
I remember looking at her and all I could see was pain.
she had this insane look of desperation; you could almost feel it.
and yet her eyes were still hollow; like the life had been sucked out of her.
I wanted to pick up her pieces.
I wanted to put her back together.
and so I tried. I really did.
I got a little cut along the way.
the more I tried to fix her the more fragile I became myself but I didn’t care.
I wanted to see her happy.
every time I made her laugh I thought about how I wanted to make her laugh forever.
she was getting better.
eventually she was put together enough to get up and walk away.
but she didn’t take me with her.
and I’ve been stuck sitting here where I first found her.
wondering if the pieces left on the floor are hers or mine.
I should probably get the fuck up.
The dude you’re with is great.
But even he can do better than you.
I love finding songs that are relevant. Its like the soundtrack to my life.
If you want to destroy my sweater
Hold this thread as I walk away
Watch me unravel, I’ll soon be naked
Lying on the floor
I’ve come undone
I don’t want to destroy your tank-top
Let’s be friends and just walk away
It’s good to see you lying there in your Superman skivvies
Lying on the floor
I’ve come undone
Stop ringing her. Stop messaging her. Stop making excuses to see her, to drop by her place.
Erase her name from memory. Remove yourself from her life, more completely than you would like but as completely as she deserves. Move on, so that you can allow her to also move on. When you close your eyes, you don’t get to see her face. Not anymore. You don’t get to think about her lips, the warm glow of her skin when she rests next to you, or how she squeezes your hand in her sleep. You are not allowed to remember the smell of her perfume, that she only drinks mint tea (with two dollops of honey), or that she loves you.
She loves you.
She has been in love with you for too long.
So, forget how she says your name. Forget how she calls your name. Forget how she screams your name. Forget that time you got sick and she stayed up with you all night, letting you lay your head in her lap and holding a cold compress to your forehead. Forget how her hair feels in your fingers. Forget how she looks in your sweatshirts.
Know only that she existed at one point in your life, but relinquish all hope that she could exist at another point — sometime in the future that you are unwilling to specify because you don’t know what you want. Yet. It is not fair for you to swoop in and out of her life as you choose. It is not fair for you to say that you are satisfied with “things as they are” and you will have time to “figure it out” later. Let her stop investing emotionally in you. Let her pour that love and care into the people who deserve her.
Don’t tell her that you think about her all the time. Don’t tell her that it bothers you to hear about her with other people, but that you’re willing to understand as long as she likes you more than them. Don’t tell her that this isn’t the right moment but that there will be a right moment. There is not going to be a right moment. She shouldn’t have to wait for the right moment.
Don’t tell her that you can’t handle ultimatums, that you don’t like the idea of finally adding finality to your relationship — whatever still remains of it.
What you are telling her is that you want to keep her on as an option, that you are taking her for granted, that you want to know she will be there, that you can depend on her at the end of the day. When you find that no one else has stuck around or that those who have are less interesting, less thoughtful, or less doggedly loyal to you.
Doggedly loyal to you.
That is what she has been to you, for you almost as long as you have known her: a constant emotional crutch, the guarantee of stability, a safety net while you reach out to grasp objects that sparkle and shine far greater than she does. All that glitters is not gold, haven’t you heard?
She is fire. You are ice, and you are afraid that her slow burn will smolder your cool, hard demeanor. That’s what has driven your decisions, your actions all along: fear. You are a coward. You are a hypocrite. You are terrified to let her go, but you are afraid she is too good for you, that she could drive you wild, that you would choke on her flames. That she is too much for you to handle right now.
But if you choose not to love her now, you can’t choose to love her later."
— Lauren Hooper
I have nothing against LGBTQ. And theres nothing wrong with being any of those.
But when you repeatedly call me gay, when I know my own sexual orientation, and especially when you use it in a derogatory way, as if its actually something to be made fun of.
You can fuck off.
I could care less if your LGBTQ and you feel like you have a right to say gay or queer, but when you’re using it as an insult, we have a problem.
Scruffy scruff scruff.
Sew this up with threads of reason and regret
So I will not forget. I will not forget
How this felt one year six months ago
I know I cannot forget. I cannot forget
I’m falling into memories of you and things we used to do
Follow me there
A beautiful somewhere
A place that I can share with you
I can tell that you don’t know me anymore
It’s easy to forget, sometimes we just forget
And being on this road is anything but sure
Maybe we’ll forget, I hope we don’t forget
I have a thing for bunheads.
I’m not going to tell you I miss you
Because I (Do)n’t
To say “I want you”
would sound far too selfish.
To say “I need you”
would sound far too desperate.
To say “I love you”
would sound far too hasty.
So I will remain silent,
hoping not to sound