A factory is the home for an emotionless robot.
I'm not allowed to know anything.
I'm not allowed to fix anything.
I'm not allowed to cross boundaries.
I'm not allowed to be curious.
These are a friend's duty and then some, am I wrong? Aren't we supposed to get through things with a little help from our friends? Who are we when we're unable to fulfill that purpose? Or when we're not one of the lucky ones to be charged with such duties? The only word I want to admit to is "mislead." And I blame myself. I always blame myself, and that, I think, is why I have people let go to me. If I absorb all of their guilt and regret, nobody is left with anything to be afraid of. This is where my talent truly lies. This is what I've always been good at. And this is the first time I've admitted it in so many words.
It's been 48 hours, and my nerves are still erratic.
I was offered the job at Bullseye Glass. I found out on my break at work, and the first thing I wanted to do was call to tell you. That was my gut reaction when I first heard the words. I was going to call, but you were so upset before. And I got upset. Then for the next two hours I was to remain in that building I couldn't formulate any sentences worth a damn to anyone I had to tried to communicate with. I was literally stuttering, stopping and starting over statements and questions and I couldn't keep my hands quiet or make eye contact. I was a fucking mess, and it's because I didn't allow myself any other outlet.
Simply put, I like when you're in a good mood. When you're not, I start twisting tongues and scatter brains. It's worse when you let me in on a cryptic secret. Normally, It bums me the fuck out, but I move on when you seemed to have moved on. Not the case with the other night. I thought it was harmless at first mention, but something suddenly turned and it became completely taboo. Given your words and attitude, this time I can't ignore it, because I think I know what it is. You made it too real for me, and it truly hurts to have your wall punch me in the stomach like it did. I was looking for trouble, though, I admit.
I can't find an easy way to wrap this up, I always find too much to say. I can't make up my mind whether or not I'm mad at you or myself. Any way I look at it, I can always find a way to make it my fault. So, I guess that is to say it's my fault I'm upset about any of it. I try too hard and get so angry with myself when I fail.
And I failed. So please do your best to not tell me these sorrowful things unless you're willing to talk. You already know I'm willing to listen. You know I care more than I ever should.
And I am truly sorry for that.
I'm not allowed to fix anything.
I'm not allowed to cross boundaries.
I'm not allowed to be curious.
These are a friend's duty and then some, am I wrong? Aren't we supposed to get through things with a little help from our friends? Who are we when we're unable to fulfill that purpose? Or when we're not one of the lucky ones to be charged with such duties? The only word I want to admit to is "mislead." And I blame myself. I always blame myself, and that, I think, is why I have people let go to me. If I absorb all of their guilt and regret, nobody is left with anything to be afraid of. This is where my talent truly lies. This is what I've always been good at. And this is the first time I've admitted it in so many words.
It's been 48 hours, and my nerves are still erratic.
I was offered the job at Bullseye Glass. I found out on my break at work, and the first thing I wanted to do was call to tell you. That was my gut reaction when I first heard the words. I was going to call, but you were so upset before. And I got upset. Then for the next two hours I was to remain in that building I couldn't formulate any sentences worth a damn to anyone I had to tried to communicate with. I was literally stuttering, stopping and starting over statements and questions and I couldn't keep my hands quiet or make eye contact. I was a fucking mess, and it's because I didn't allow myself any other outlet.
Simply put, I like when you're in a good mood. When you're not, I start twisting tongues and scatter brains. It's worse when you let me in on a cryptic secret. Normally, It bums me the fuck out, but I move on when you seemed to have moved on. Not the case with the other night. I thought it was harmless at first mention, but something suddenly turned and it became completely taboo. Given your words and attitude, this time I can't ignore it, because I think I know what it is. You made it too real for me, and it truly hurts to have your wall punch me in the stomach like it did. I was looking for trouble, though, I admit.
I can't find an easy way to wrap this up, I always find too much to say. I can't make up my mind whether or not I'm mad at you or myself. Any way I look at it, I can always find a way to make it my fault. So, I guess that is to say it's my fault I'm upset about any of it. I try too hard and get so angry with myself when I fail.
And I failed. So please do your best to not tell me these sorrowful things unless you're willing to talk. You already know I'm willing to listen. You know I care more than I ever should.
And I am truly sorry for that.