For a very brief period, like a tiny sliver, thin like a paper cut, I thought I was in love with you. Both before and after that was thoughts. Analysis. Agony.
You’re not good for me. Well I am not one for reality, most people would start there, but I don’t because who cares; because I somehow believe I can defy norms, bend the fake wires all these silly people have put around me. I’ve lived the rebel life so long, I don’t know how else to be anything but. So back to basics, you’re not good for me. You’re not particularly my type. Ask me what my type is? I don’t know and I won’t tell.
I am too in love with my own childhood. I am in mourning and I want someone to walk that path with me. I want a girlfriend. I want a me. I am my type. But I am dangerous and I am infidel just as much as I am loyal. I fall in love fast and easy, just like I never let go.
I wasn’t into you. I don’t feel attracted, nor do I feel loved. I definitely do not feel understood. Conversations go nowhere. Companionship- what I crave isn’t something I see in you. But you see, I want things I can’t have. And I want them so bad, I tell myself that I love them. I have done this many times before. My work space has photos of my kids and otherwise mostly people who are gone. I cling to people who are either going or are gone. I ignore those who are here and now. My mind is elsewhere wondering what else? Why not? Who? What? Why? I crave what I don’t have. I panic loss. Need worries me. I don’t know what contentment feels like, I don’t remember how the last time I felt gratitude. I feel fear before I feel gratitude, as if someone will see my happiness and take it away. I didn’t let the paper cut feeling of love or whatever it was to last. I am a sucker for happiness and I am so scared to lose it that I kill it.
I knew so well in mind, the impossibility of it, I think I might have squashed out any feelings of joy. Forget love- now it is burdensome. It is bitter. I am only waiting for the next feeling of fancy. I know it will happen. I just don’t know when or who. You see I am in love with the idea of falling for someone. I am too scared of what comes after. I need someone to walk me through that. I don’t think I want to keep jumping, because in order to jump up you have to push down and that hurts.
He was the only one who could, no matter how annoyed and how angry he made me, he was the only forever love if there ever is such a thing. But even him I think is just an image. Mostly smoke and some mirrors for self-reflection.
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