Thursday, February 17
A note to you.
I'm getting sick of thinking about you. Every morning, even two years later, you're still one of the first things I think about. Last night, as I was lying in bed, I realized I was exhausted thinking about you this much, never coming to a conclusion, always thinking a variation of the same, wondering when the hell it will be when you get some balls and get out of the life that's making you miserable. Or I wonder when it is you may realize the few things you deem important in the situation aren't worth making you miss out on the one thing in this life that can truly make us happy, take over our soul and make life worth living. In the end, those concrete items you're creating from your misery, will be just that, things. They can occupy your time, release stress, prove your capabilities -- but I know your capabilities in love, and know exactly how I can release that stress of yours, and make you glow. You're filling my thoughts, and unless you intend on filling my body with the shutters your fingers create, it's time you get the hell out. I am in love with you; I've been in love with you since I saw you at the counter in the Post Office, and now I'm afraid I may never get out of it...I may never allow myself to fall in love with someone else. We're both missing out on a world we know is there; you're missing out because of actions you won't take, and I'm missing out on actions I can't take. My stomach won't leave me alone when it's you in my mind, when it's you telling me you're getting closer and closer...to what you desire most; when you tell me you'll be alone this weekend; when you give me the small window of hope that I look for every second of the day. I can't settle my stomach with thoughts of you being out of my life either. Honestly, I don't know what makes it worse. It's like a bandaid, I know the faster I rip, the easier it will be to deal with the pain -- but I'm scared of what's underneath the bandage, it's been convered for so long. I want you to rip it off for me, but be there to ease the pain, not turn your back as you rub the salt deeper. I don't know what to do anymore, which way is right. I know it's out of my hands, it has been the entire time, and that's what I hate the most. But who is it that can control love? I guess you've been doing a pretty good job of that so far. You need to give up the control. There are so many people out there that deserve my thoughts more than you, why is it I give them all to you, when I get nothing in return? I struggle with whether or not you deserve me to breakdown and meet you...if you deserve my heart again, only to smash it...again. I'm too forgiving, I both despise that capability in me, and welcome it. If I knew it was deserving, it would make it so much easier. You deserved it two years ago, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it again. You lack strength, even if it's to protect someone else. There comes a point where you break, where you can't hold it up anymore. I want you in my life, or out of my head. i can't be stretched any longer, torn, about to break like an old rubber band. I'm waiting for the sting of the backlash.