How can he do this every time?
Every time.
Make me feel small and petty and worthless. Childish. Immature. No one else makes me feel this way. How is this good for me? I'm tired of always thinking of ways to defend my actions. I'm tired of discovering that I have no depth. I'm tired of being told I'm nowhere close to as grown up as I thought.
I'm tired of every explanation I try to find being viewed as an excuse.
And where do I go from here, love? He doesn't see me. He doesn't know me. What made me think he did? What made me think all the things he said were true just because he was right some of the time? I've been wrong before. Nobody's perfect.
And he won't see.
He won't see.
He stopped listening. I don't know when, and I don't know how long I've been pretending he hadn't. He's got me confused in his head with someone else. I don't know who it is. I'm not that person, and I refuse to be that person.
I'm exasperated. I used to think that was experated till I read it aloud for the first time. Class Five. Kim. Kipling.
Who will listen?
Yesterday I decided words weren't enough. Well guess what. For me, they are.
Fuck the fucking chinese fucking walls.
Hm. I got mad. Why'd I get mad? Mood music, I think. I don't want to be mad. Anger solves nothing. If I should be angry at anything it's me. I hate that every letter ends with me writing something to make him feel better. I hate that everything I write to him is about making this relationship easy. I hate how easy it is to lie to the people you say you love. I hate that I still can't tell what love is. I hate how every time I think of him I think something different. I hate how he takes everything I tell him at face value, but how much more would I hate it if he doubted what I said. I hate how I try to package and label all the things I feel about him. I hate how I know I can never tell him any of this because I want to be comfortable. I hate how I know this is going to end. I hate that I know it will all be my fault. I hate how much I see and how little I use. I hate that I was happy this morning and I'm messed up again. I hate that I spend all this time thinking about him when there's absolutely nothing I'm gaining from it at all. I hate that he'll still always be my muse and that all I need to get the words flowing is to think I'm writing him a letter. I hate that I might be able to do that without ever dropping him a single line. I hate that I no longer need his letters. I hate that I've started thinking of him exactly the way I thought of the other. I hate that he always finds the chinks in my armour and the flaws in my reasoning. I hate that I don't know whether I want to be right for the right reasons. I hate that I can't tell what's going on inside my own bloody head. I hate that everything about me is a lie. I hate that everything about me is an act. I hate how I can use words to make everything fine without solving any of my problems. I hate how easily I use the word addiction and still truly believe I mean it. I hate how I can no longer tell what I truly believe and what I've convinced myself I believe. I hate that nothing I convince myself about regarding him stays for more than a day. I hate how my dreams are no longer distinguishable from reality. I hate how I can't tell people what I want. I hate how I can't tell the difference between an excuse and an explanation. I hate that I don't know how to stop making excuses. I hate that so many words aren't defined. I hate that I can't tell what's true and what's not. I hate how I will never gain the guts to tell him any of this. I hate that I'm thinking that all of this is just me being poetic. I hate that I don't know whether I mean anything I'm writing now. I hate that I can convince myself of anything. I hate that I always fall for it. I hate that the simple things make me happy but a boy can still turn everything on its head. I hate that I don't ever know how to make people go away when I don't like them but I always manage to get rid of the ones I'm afraid to need. I hate how I always want the most painless way out of everything. I hate that I'm not afraid of hard work, but I still cannot apply that to relationships with people. I hate the way he said "when did vin and I become people". I hate that he will always make me feel that I will never be the person he wishes I would be. I hate that he loves me and still causes only heartache. I hate that brothers can love you to distraction and still only understand that part of you that they see themselves in. I hate that it takes me so long to think of anything. I hate being so wise in the head and so abysmally clueless everywhere else. I hate that I don't know how I feel about anyone. I hate that I keep thinking the only reason I can say I love them is because they love me. I hate that I know so much in theory and yet nothing in practice. I hate that I still love me. I hate that I can anticipate change and still never reconcile myself to it. I hate that I haven't figured out the world. I hate that that bothers me. I hate that I have no ambition. I hate how every thought of him leads right back to me. I hate how every second thought leads right to him. I hate how I can convince myself of something and then fall in the same traps every time. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that the ones who love me will always offer things I can't use to make me all I want to be. I hate that I can be content sometimes. I hate that I love to self-destruct. I hate that my instincts don't prevent me from doing the wrong things. I hate that right now I'm thinking that I can't ever avert any of the messes I see coming a mile away.
More mood music.
I hate that I decided words weren't enough and then went ahead and used them to fix myself for this moment anyway.
And because I must always end high and poignant and poetic. And because she always makes it better. And because she is right now.
My song.
I would rather a bad day that ends well than a great day that ends badly.
Every time.
Make me feel small and petty and worthless. Childish. Immature. No one else makes me feel this way. How is this good for me? I'm tired of always thinking of ways to defend my actions. I'm tired of discovering that I have no depth. I'm tired of being told I'm nowhere close to as grown up as I thought.
I'm tired of every explanation I try to find being viewed as an excuse.
And where do I go from here, love? He doesn't see me. He doesn't know me. What made me think he did? What made me think all the things he said were true just because he was right some of the time? I've been wrong before. Nobody's perfect.
And he won't see.
He won't see.
He stopped listening. I don't know when, and I don't know how long I've been pretending he hadn't. He's got me confused in his head with someone else. I don't know who it is. I'm not that person, and I refuse to be that person.
I'm exasperated. I used to think that was experated till I read it aloud for the first time. Class Five. Kim. Kipling.
Who will listen?
Yesterday I decided words weren't enough. Well guess what. For me, they are.
Fuck the fucking chinese fucking walls.
Hm. I got mad. Why'd I get mad? Mood music, I think. I don't want to be mad. Anger solves nothing. If I should be angry at anything it's me. I hate that every letter ends with me writing something to make him feel better. I hate that everything I write to him is about making this relationship easy. I hate how easy it is to lie to the people you say you love. I hate that I still can't tell what love is. I hate how every time I think of him I think something different. I hate how he takes everything I tell him at face value, but how much more would I hate it if he doubted what I said. I hate how I try to package and label all the things I feel about him. I hate how I know I can never tell him any of this because I want to be comfortable. I hate how I know this is going to end. I hate that I know it will all be my fault. I hate how much I see and how little I use. I hate that I was happy this morning and I'm messed up again. I hate that I spend all this time thinking about him when there's absolutely nothing I'm gaining from it at all. I hate that he'll still always be my muse and that all I need to get the words flowing is to think I'm writing him a letter. I hate that I might be able to do that without ever dropping him a single line. I hate that I no longer need his letters. I hate that I've started thinking of him exactly the way I thought of the other. I hate that he always finds the chinks in my armour and the flaws in my reasoning. I hate that I don't know whether I want to be right for the right reasons. I hate that I can't tell what's going on inside my own bloody head. I hate that everything about me is a lie. I hate that everything about me is an act. I hate how I can use words to make everything fine without solving any of my problems. I hate how easily I use the word addiction and still truly believe I mean it. I hate how I can no longer tell what I truly believe and what I've convinced myself I believe. I hate that nothing I convince myself about regarding him stays for more than a day. I hate how my dreams are no longer distinguishable from reality. I hate how I can't tell people what I want. I hate how I can't tell the difference between an excuse and an explanation. I hate that I don't know how to stop making excuses. I hate that so many words aren't defined. I hate that I can't tell what's true and what's not. I hate how I will never gain the guts to tell him any of this. I hate that I'm thinking that all of this is just me being poetic. I hate that I don't know whether I mean anything I'm writing now. I hate that I can convince myself of anything. I hate that I always fall for it. I hate that the simple things make me happy but a boy can still turn everything on its head. I hate that I don't ever know how to make people go away when I don't like them but I always manage to get rid of the ones I'm afraid to need. I hate how I always want the most painless way out of everything. I hate that I'm not afraid of hard work, but I still cannot apply that to relationships with people. I hate the way he said "when did vin and I become people". I hate that he will always make me feel that I will never be the person he wishes I would be. I hate that he loves me and still causes only heartache. I hate that brothers can love you to distraction and still only understand that part of you that they see themselves in. I hate that it takes me so long to think of anything. I hate being so wise in the head and so abysmally clueless everywhere else. I hate that I don't know how I feel about anyone. I hate that I keep thinking the only reason I can say I love them is because they love me. I hate that I know so much in theory and yet nothing in practice. I hate that I still love me. I hate that I can anticipate change and still never reconcile myself to it. I hate that I haven't figured out the world. I hate that that bothers me. I hate that I have no ambition. I hate how every thought of him leads right back to me. I hate how every second thought leads right to him. I hate how I can convince myself of something and then fall in the same traps every time. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that the ones who love me will always offer things I can't use to make me all I want to be. I hate that I can be content sometimes. I hate that I love to self-destruct. I hate that my instincts don't prevent me from doing the wrong things. I hate that right now I'm thinking that I can't ever avert any of the messes I see coming a mile away.
More mood music.
I hate that I decided words weren't enough and then went ahead and used them to fix myself for this moment anyway.
And because I must always end high and poignant and poetic. And because she always makes it better. And because she is right now.
My song.
I would rather a bad day that ends well than a great day that ends badly.
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