(no subject)
goodbye.
you wonder if it's a mistake.
you wonder if it's a mistake. and if it's all your fault.
it's never easy, hasn't been easier even after doing it so many times before. you think this is insanity (re)defined - this persistence in repeating the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result each time. rinse and repeat. the wound starts healing quicker than the last time, feelings mingling and twisting and dissipating like early morning fog. the pain doesn't cut as deep as the first one and through repetition, you've developed resilience. unfortunately.
the heartache doesn't kill you anymore.
you wonder if she knows this.
you wonder if she knows this. and why she still insists on damaged goods.
it's a do-it-yourself manual of self destruction. take a step away only to be pulled right back in. it's the cliched 'moth with fire', only you don't know where one ends and the other begins. you've reversed the roles so much that the lines are no longer definite, blurred beyond recognition. black and white and shades of grey.
you listen to orchestrated words, to 'why can't we make this work's and 'i hate you's amplified with the ocean between both of you.
you count the tears she shed and feel as if you should apologise.
you murmur 'i understand's instead, even when nothing makes sense anymore.
you sleep with static that night.
you wake up, kinks at the back of your head and this is the last time, you tell yourself. there is no going back, not after this one. but you've made resolutions like that in the past. the words echoes emptily, even when you speak them out aloud in the privacy of silence and four walls. you've made promises of 'forever' and they don't last a second past 'never'. you cut strings only to tangle in knots.
you know it's only a matter of time. a matter of habit over acceptance.
she will reach out and you will meet her halfway toward stumbling. it's inevitable. old habits die hard.
you wonder if you'll survive to see the end of this.
you wonder if it would've made any difference.
end
you wonder if it's a mistake.
you wonder if it's a mistake. and if it's all your fault.
it's never easy, hasn't been easier even after doing it so many times before. you think this is insanity (re)defined - this persistence in repeating the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result each time. rinse and repeat. the wound starts healing quicker than the last time, feelings mingling and twisting and dissipating like early morning fog. the pain doesn't cut as deep as the first one and through repetition, you've developed resilience. unfortunately.
the heartache doesn't kill you anymore.
you wonder if she knows this.
you wonder if she knows this. and why she still insists on damaged goods.
it's a do-it-yourself manual of self destruction. take a step away only to be pulled right back in. it's the cliched 'moth with fire', only you don't know where one ends and the other begins. you've reversed the roles so much that the lines are no longer definite, blurred beyond recognition. black and white and shades of grey.
you listen to orchestrated words, to 'why can't we make this work's and 'i hate you's amplified with the ocean between both of you.
you count the tears she shed and feel as if you should apologise.
you murmur 'i understand's instead, even when nothing makes sense anymore.
you sleep with static that night.
you wake up, kinks at the back of your head and this is the last time, you tell yourself. there is no going back, not after this one. but you've made resolutions like that in the past. the words echoes emptily, even when you speak them out aloud in the privacy of silence and four walls. you've made promises of 'forever' and they don't last a second past 'never'. you cut strings only to tangle in knots.
you know it's only a matter of time. a matter of habit over acceptance.
she will reach out and you will meet her halfway toward stumbling. it's inevitable. old habits die hard.
you wonder if you'll survive to see the end of this.
you wonder if it would've made any difference.
end