Confusion

Why do you do this to me?

How?

Making me doubt everything I thought.

How can you make these plans, when we haven't been anything? We've tried to be something, and tried to be nothing, and we get stuck in limbo, in this in between place, wanting but never having because we just don't work.

But I'm not the only one involved here. Someone else's feelings are at stake. Granted, that has nothing to do with you, and you have no reason to care. That was my doing, and therefore my responsibility. But you, you were the one who always said you had too much respect to do that to someone. How can you do this again, then? Isn't it all the same?

You're the only one who can do this to me, get me tangled up and confused.

He's catching on, you know. To my indecision, my creeping indifference. The change is too obvious, and I feel guilty.

Are you only going to break me again?

So much later

And all this time to think, all this time to hold on, to be with you, to be without you, and yet still that creeping indecision.

And I don't want to talk to a page, but with so much distance this is what it comes down to. I need to vent somewhere; maybe seeing this will clear my head, make my decision for me. Because I waited and waited last time, thinking it was the right thing to do... and managed to miss my opportunity at the one thing I wanted most. I won't do that again, but I'm so stubborn on this front I just can't think what else to do.

And now is a bad time for this; I feel sick and fear that feeling will creep in and cloud my judgement as so many other things have.

Lover, you're still mine, and I know you know this, too.

You still give me butterflies.

As of late--

I’m starting to feel sick again; that pit-of-the-stomach feeling that always inevitably returns.
I can’t help myself, that’s what happened. I want things I can’t have, things I’m not ready for, things I don’t have the energy or patience for. I don’t have the patience for her.
I would, I would… but I don’t think this will work. I suppose the distance doesn’t help. But sometimes I wonder, what is there even needs fixing? What if I was right? What if she does just make drama out of petty little things that don’t matter? What if letting it go was the only thing we needed to do?
I could be content with that, but she never will. Because ever repeating anything is the greatest offense, repetition means that I clearly don’t care and have no intention of betterment… but why can’t we just enjoy each other? Is that not good enough? Is that not enough?
“You didn’t make me feel special.”
Did I really fail so miserably? If only you could have read my thoughts… you’d know otherwise. Always on my mind.



Counting the days, but wasn’t I always?
There’s something missing, and not enough space to fill it.

Its foolish, it is. It was, because no more. I want to let go forever, I have to. I can’t live like this, with that awful feeling never ceasing in the pit of my stomach. I was happy once; and before that, there was that rush of relief; that should have been enough to tell me what was what. But apparently I’m a fool, that hasn’t changed in the least, and probably never will, but I suppose I’m willing to work with that. And not a whole lot else, but I’m tired of working. Working for things that won’t work. Things that just can’t work. And maybe I ask for too much, but I’m not the one who makes drunken phone calls at 2 am. I was content with letting sleeping dogs lie. I was content to be by myself. Even forever, should it so happen that way.

I remember that young naivety. My hopelessly romantic belief that love could solve everything, that love was some mystical potion to cure all ills, and that in the end would actually serve me. But I was wrong. Maybe I was right in my adolescence; maybe I never should have found any such pathetic hope to hold on to; maybe drowning in the doom of reality would have been better for everyone. She could have moved on, couldn’t she? She would have never known what it was like to have me, to be with me, to make me her own and need me. She wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and so by the same end, neither would I. We could have been better than this, had we only made sure not to let this happen at all.
But I suppose no use in even considering the possibility, being that we ruined that too many years ago anyway; its really only a pathetic attempt at some twisted consolation on my part, but really, what good has consolation ever done anyone? Second place has always been second best, and that’s what it seems we’ll have to settle with.
But I always believed we had it so good. I had deluded myself into believing we were the only ones, we were the first, we knew it better than all the others, we had the answers, we had this figured out. How was I so wrong?
And I need to blame her. Because I spent too many months shaming myself, feeling guilty for all the words and deeds not said, for those that were. And when I stopped, and just took it at face value, just accepted the fact that we didn’t work… suddenly I was free, and I found myself happy. For once. For real. I had it.
And then she came back, and while I know its not her fault, I can’t help but think that things might have gone differently. That I might still be okay if we hadn’t opened this can of worms. That I might actually be moving on instead of kicking up dirt in the same spot for days and weeks on end… and when it becomes months, we know we have a problem on our hands.
Its getting to that point.
This is a problem.
And I don’t want to live my life with a perpetual issue always at hand; I can’t live thinking there is always something that needs fixing, needs to be better. I’ve become inflexible of late, and I suppose I learned it from the best, though I can’t say inheritance has nothing to do with it. But I just… I just can’t. Accept what I am like you always said you did, and maybe we can find a way to make this work.
But you want to pick, pick it apart, as if everything is an issue. I didn’t say there aren’t any; but I really do believe things need to be let go.
But she can’t take that; everything means too much to her. Maybe I’ve lost the capacity. I’m not sure. I’m not sure I care either. I’ve been happier not caring. I’ve been happier letting things slide, and I’d like to get back to that. I’d like to return to being selfish.
I’ve seen it happen.
I’d like to think it could for me.
But she’s not the one to do it. And I suppose if I really cared, I’d want something better for her.
I think I’ve made my point.



I know now why I’m a heart breaker.
I’m a disappointment.
These people only ever fall for me because they see something cute, charming, mildly witty. I do things for them, make them feel good, feel like they matter.
But I only do those things to meet my own ends. And eventually, the truth comes out.

Tears, for god knows what. They will stay with me forever; this trail is permanent.


…hermiting away again.
This isn’t her fault.
The whole world collapsed.

Post silencing; pre late night phone call

Is it summer yet?

And this is what it comes down to: waiting. Always waiting, waiting for something, half the time I'm not even sure what. But waiting, nonetheless, as if I ever possessed the patience to do so.

But it seems the right thing to do right now. Not waiting for the things I've waited for before; or is it? Waiting for... an opportunity. How absurd.

But the difficult thing is she expressed the same intention as I, to wait for this. And I have to wonder, why then, we're waiting at all.

Its so difficult to remind myself why; it would be easy to get into this, to try to make it work; but would we have to pretend? That's the one thing I can't do. I can let things go, I can let things slide, but I can't pretend things never happened (though sometimes I wish to, to make it easier, if only for my own sake) and I can't pretend everything is fine; that much I know. But the rest... the rest is up in the air, and I find myself holding my breath waiting for it to fall.
(Is that what it is? A fall?)

Why can't anything ever just come gently?

...this doesn't express my sentiment at all.

Despite it all

Back to square one.

I thought I was done.

Apparently nothing is ever done for good.

So much can change in a matter of minutes, but really, so much of the same.

It has changed, I know that much. But something is still there, and that's what frightens me. These tears aren't the same, but tears nonetheless, appendages of what scarred tissue remains of my heart.

And a part of me wants to pursue this, this other realm.
But part of me wants to let go forever.

And terribly enough, part of me wants to go back.

I know there is no going back, it could never be the same.

But ultimately, I know I would jump back in. Despite it all. Despite the fights. Despite the miscommunication (or rather lack thereof). Despite all of the ways in which we are completely incompatible and I know deep down should be enough to compel me to want to find another, someone who will be what I need, and yet...

Maybe I'm too tired.

Maybe so many hours in such close proximity, that proximity which we used to share so intimately, has skewed my brain and made my rationale fuzzy. Maybe I'm only willing because its all I know at this point. How does one take a ride without touching? How does one change their clothes with the door closed after another has seen them at their most vulnerable for 5 years?

Its not erasable.

And maybe that's why so many people cut off all contact.

You can't go back. What's done is done, and you can only make the best of the present to make any sort of future.

I'm not making plans this time, but I will hope for the best.
Whatever that is.

Why does love always catch you by surprise?

And why does no one ever speak up at the same time?


Amazing that two people could ever come together at all.