I'm letting you read this because I want to explain, but I will not let it change anything
It's years of building these cold stone walls that stand unmovable and unyielding; mighty, formidable, impenetrable monoliths.
It's years of learning to blend in like a chameleon, watching and waiting and always in the background.
It's years of being a ghost, a wraith that floats in and out without disturbing a leaf, a shadow that can slip out of the party unnoticed.
It's years of pretending I don't matter that makes it so easy, because when I don't matter I don't have to worry.
But it's when a wrecking ball suddenly smashes a gaping hole, it's when the chameleon is caught dead in its tracks, it's when the shadow accidentally steps into the light, it's when pretending no longer works, that's when.
That's when you do things you could never do to someone you care about, but obviously you did them, so the word "never" is just the safety lock on the glittering steel barrel of your .39 revolver, but the question is why, and well, the answer is why else but because you just want affect them the same way you've been affected, because now that you can't pretend you don't matter, you must prove that you do matter.
That's when it would just be so easy to be the accomodating hotel concierge and send you on your way with a smile and a joke, but then the concierge wanders back into his wood-paneled office and sits on his cushioned chair and puts on his soft music and waits for the next guest and wishes so bad he could quit this stupid job of giving everybody else what they want because he's never selfish, never truly selfish, and sometimes he just wants to be a little selfish, because it'd be nice to be given something for once. But that's when I decided I wouldn't be a concierge. And it makes me guilty. And it makes me so ashamed and sorry to have made you lose sleep and made you nauseous and put you in this terrible position.
That's when a small, precise cut has been made right between your chest and your stomach, except its not a cut but a puncture that runs so fine and thin and so very deep and its depth, its reach has hurt something so sacred that I never thought would be hurt with you, but as we learn, never is just a safety lock. And it will stay there, how long I don't know but it's there, and I want to make it go away.
That's when five words can be the second most painful.
It's so tempting to rebuild those walls, to step back into shadow, to send you off with a smile, it's so easy because I'm so good at it, I'm incredibly fucking genius at it, but I have chosen not to (I never choose not to, but never is just a safety lock). I choose not to because this time I matter and you matter.
(deleted)
It's years of learning to blend in like a chameleon, watching and waiting and always in the background.
It's years of being a ghost, a wraith that floats in and out without disturbing a leaf, a shadow that can slip out of the party unnoticed.
It's years of pretending I don't matter that makes it so easy, because when I don't matter I don't have to worry.
But it's when a wrecking ball suddenly smashes a gaping hole, it's when the chameleon is caught dead in its tracks, it's when the shadow accidentally steps into the light, it's when pretending no longer works, that's when.
That's when you do things you could never do to someone you care about, but obviously you did them, so the word "never" is just the safety lock on the glittering steel barrel of your .39 revolver, but the question is why, and well, the answer is why else but because you just want affect them the same way you've been affected, because now that you can't pretend you don't matter, you must prove that you do matter.
That's when it would just be so easy to be the accomodating hotel concierge and send you on your way with a smile and a joke, but then the concierge wanders back into his wood-paneled office and sits on his cushioned chair and puts on his soft music and waits for the next guest and wishes so bad he could quit this stupid job of giving everybody else what they want because he's never selfish, never truly selfish, and sometimes he just wants to be a little selfish, because it'd be nice to be given something for once. But that's when I decided I wouldn't be a concierge. And it makes me guilty. And it makes me so ashamed and sorry to have made you lose sleep and made you nauseous and put you in this terrible position.
That's when a small, precise cut has been made right between your chest and your stomach, except its not a cut but a puncture that runs so fine and thin and so very deep and its depth, its reach has hurt something so sacred that I never thought would be hurt with you, but as we learn, never is just a safety lock. And it will stay there, how long I don't know but it's there, and I want to make it go away.
That's when five words can be the second most painful.
It's so tempting to rebuild those walls, to step back into shadow, to send you off with a smile, it's so easy because I'm so good at it, I'm incredibly fucking genius at it, but I have chosen not to (I never choose not to, but never is just a safety lock). I choose not to because this time I matter and you matter.
(deleted)