(no subject)
how many nights can my heart be broken again and again and again by the same person and this is a fucking broken record, this is too much to do every sunday when i listen to you quietly saying you think you are losing your mind and i say that it is okay that we can all be Dean Moriarty and have an utter fascination for everything and everything surronding us, that was happiness, the awareness of it all. you say how he loses everything in the end everyone he loves and i sense a quiet morbid fear coming from you i want to scream i will be there i will i will but i whisper it to myself and it gets lost before it travels in the spiraling telephone chord towards you. the things i want to say stay close to my chest, i hold the words hostages and the sadness that it brings that the place we moved in together is getting demolished soon, the hardwood floors and the windows and the wall were my painting hung and the bedroom were we slept together and the kitchen counters were we had sex and the shower with its oxydating problems, and it fucking breaks my heart maybe that is the closure that was needed, a symbolic symbol that the past is past is past and over and all we have are ashes of what was left. maybe that. how nothing will ever remind you of me i will be scattered around silver spring lost in the fucking pavement. i say i want to see you again but what is it that i am coming back to? nothing that held my name nothing that knew i existed before, the corners that have never seen me. i think about the moving on how maybe the physical aspect of it will make it easier for you and there is nothing i can do about it. i tell you about the end of a movie that was me. the way he asked "are you happy?" and she said she who was so me, she who laughed the same way and said the same things i told you, she who you told me ages ago that reminded you of everything i am goes "yeah...the lower intensity is nice" the lower intensity is nice. and is it? i was so aware about happiness, about unabridge joy, i never once wanted to lower the intensity of anything, it seems preposterous and dissapointing and sad. it feels so goddamn sad. the way you talk, the way your tired jokes still make sense and we discuss endings of books and melodies and there are boundaries like landmines, things i can no longer say, things that if i materialize them into words i will fucking explode. how is it that words like i miss you became so heartbreakingly dangerous. were they ever supposed to be? i cant do boundaries anymore, and i cannot pretend that i am not restless over the fact that i want to spend every last dollar i saved to go and see you only if it is just to see you as a stranger but come face to face to it, only to shake you and make you realize that it is in fact the end of the world, that you could lose me. and now the safety net that was that apartment is gone and you are off to prague with your clichéd copy of the unbearable lightness of being and i am one big mess i dont even have the past anymore, they bought the property and will now smash it into pieces for it to become something entirely new and different, dont they see that is where my soul lives? dont they know they cant bulldoze over that.