(no subject)
If you ever thought you had her. You didn't. She's too off. She has thoughts that don't even appear with you in them. She is bored. She is still pretty though. A quiet gorgeous that cannot leave your eyes. You do not know what in fact has made her so beautiful over these years, to find you here, humbled and desperate, but she is still. And somehow you feel stupid. Just by looking at her. Just imagining that she might be different. That you two could be different together.
If you ever thought you had her. You never did or will. She's lost in the muscles that move her. That soothe her. The ones that have taught her not to miss your smell or your body when it's warm and right against her. She is in another land. And only in segregated lumps will you be invited. She might be crying to herself. But those tears will never find you. You must know that she was taught to keep them from you. Which does not mean she is hiding herself from you. There just are things she'd rather not show you. It would be too difficult to explain. But you can't help wanting to help her. Wanting to change her. You can't help thinking she might still need you. And she may. But she doesn't know it enough to change, and take you. And so she wanders and does not feel so lonely. And so she speaks to you and the words are lovely. And there are no more tactics, no more reasons she must try to get your eyes.
I marched up the stairs thinking that my words would be able to keep you, hoping that you would regard them with the same meaning as you had before. But you think I am distorted now, as if when I say something that doesn't have to do with a paper-thin plotline it is soiled. You sat there as if you had accomplished some great act, because you feel nothing now. Indifference is such a long way away from hatred, and this point is an accomplishment. And I sat there trying to wrap my fingers around all of your words which sounded so familiar to me because I remembered all of those times, falling down to your feet as a child, asking you to love me. And you said you didn't know. Asking if we could follow each other, and then we'd both be leaders. And you said you didn't care.
You can never understand that expression I wear as you look at me as if I'm not really there. You've spent so much time forgetting about me that the memories have been erased. And sitting there I wished that you hated me still. That you felt you couldn't even look at me. That you felt anything at all. But I cant value your indifference to me. And how easy it was to forget, to feel someone else's body next to yours, as if it were the same as mine.
If you ever wanted to replace me, you have. The sounds in your head and the smells of others' sheets fill your gaps. But you'll never tell me about your struggle. You sit and try to make me laugh. Thinking that all of the lies we told each other are so easy now.
And you want to tell her that you are wonderful. You want to tell her you are beautiful. You want to tell her that she saw that in you. Once upon a time, when everything was simple. When we could bounce of the walls and read silly scripts and
watch Full House. And you tell me how your heart was broken, while at the same time confessing to me that you never actually loved me. And that has brought you to this point of indifference. It's such a struggle for you to try and care, you say. But I know I do not need to say this. My words are only prisoners in my mind, escaping between written essays and cafeteria trips to expose myself to you again. But I don't care. I don't care at all.
Just because I tell you it doesn't bother me, doesn't mean I'm indifferent like you.
If you ever thought you had her. You never did or will. She's lost in the muscles that move her. That soothe her. The ones that have taught her not to miss your smell or your body when it's warm and right against her. She is in another land. And only in segregated lumps will you be invited. She might be crying to herself. But those tears will never find you. You must know that she was taught to keep them from you. Which does not mean she is hiding herself from you. There just are things she'd rather not show you. It would be too difficult to explain. But you can't help wanting to help her. Wanting to change her. You can't help thinking she might still need you. And she may. But she doesn't know it enough to change, and take you. And so she wanders and does not feel so lonely. And so she speaks to you and the words are lovely. And there are no more tactics, no more reasons she must try to get your eyes.
I marched up the stairs thinking that my words would be able to keep you, hoping that you would regard them with the same meaning as you had before. But you think I am distorted now, as if when I say something that doesn't have to do with a paper-thin plotline it is soiled. You sat there as if you had accomplished some great act, because you feel nothing now. Indifference is such a long way away from hatred, and this point is an accomplishment. And I sat there trying to wrap my fingers around all of your words which sounded so familiar to me because I remembered all of those times, falling down to your feet as a child, asking you to love me. And you said you didn't know. Asking if we could follow each other, and then we'd both be leaders. And you said you didn't care.
You can never understand that expression I wear as you look at me as if I'm not really there. You've spent so much time forgetting about me that the memories have been erased. And sitting there I wished that you hated me still. That you felt you couldn't even look at me. That you felt anything at all. But I cant value your indifference to me. And how easy it was to forget, to feel someone else's body next to yours, as if it were the same as mine.
If you ever wanted to replace me, you have. The sounds in your head and the smells of others' sheets fill your gaps. But you'll never tell me about your struggle. You sit and try to make me laugh. Thinking that all of the lies we told each other are so easy now.
And you want to tell her that you are wonderful. You want to tell her you are beautiful. You want to tell her that she saw that in you. Once upon a time, when everything was simple. When we could bounce of the walls and read silly scripts and
watch Full House. And you tell me how your heart was broken, while at the same time confessing to me that you never actually loved me. And that has brought you to this point of indifference. It's such a struggle for you to try and care, you say. But I know I do not need to say this. My words are only prisoners in my mind, escaping between written essays and cafeteria trips to expose myself to you again. But I don't care. I don't care at all.
Just because I tell you it doesn't bother me, doesn't mean I'm indifferent like you.