Why do people put there hands over there faces out of frustration? What do they not want to see? When I was younger I used to scream and yell when I was frustrated. Now I am silent, yet I still scream on the inside. Sometimes tears roll down my cheek and all they are, are tiny little screams of profanity, acts of violence. Salty. Wet. Small. Significant.
I know what I want. I want you to pick up my pieces and fit them back together. Put ME back together. Start where everything was dropped. A stronger bond. That's what I want. To forever be tied. But it's not what I really want, because it's not what you want. That's where everything becomes slightly incoherent. I want you to want what I want. I want what you want. But what I want isn't what you want, so I don't really want it. This is what destroys me. Because this isn't what I want. I want what I want and that's what I am figuring out.
Us.
"I wanted so badly to lie down next to him on the couch, to wrap my arms around him and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and he had the girlfriend and I was gawky and he was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and he was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and he was hurricane." - Looking for Alaska
I know what tomorrow is going to be like. I know that it isn't going to be so sunny, but that everything is still going to be okay. I know that the sky isn't going to just fall down.
Only I don't?
Today was a good day. Today was normal. This night was terrible. This night was so terrible, I wouldn't mind doing it just once more, so that when I say goodnight, I don't forget to say I love you the next time around.
No comments:
Post a Comment