(no subject)
It may just be me, but when you are not around, it gets so damn cold. The temperature drops to fucking negative decibels and I'm breathing in and breathing out at the same time, and I don't know how, and I don't know why. And it may just be me, but when I am speaking to you, I forget how to speak in sentences. Broken sentences become fragments that slowly crumble into words, that I can no longer pronounce, into tiny syllables, and I swear it makes me stutter. And it may just be me, but I am so sick of knowing that you are not inches away. I miss the small distances between our hands, if any distance at all.
I fucking hate how everything points back to you. I fucking hate how every song was written about you, or maybe it just seems that way because as I listen to every tempo, every note, every measure, I imagine myself in the seat of a lousy musician sipping a frap' as he anticipates the next word. It would be so easy to write about you, because I know all of your scars, and you know all of mine. (And I fucking hate it.) And yet, when I try to explain how I feel about you, the ending becomes the beginning and the first letters of every word in every new sentence are not capitalized, and I forget how to spell I, because it does not include you. But I try, and I try, and then I try, again, but I am always left with the same fucking conclusion. Every word I write is not worthy of you. So, now, I am trying to gather up the strength to pick out every word in the dictionary, so I can analyze it's every meaning and origin and so maybe, I could find just ONE word that could sum up how I feel. But I can't. And I have tried. I have fucking tried.
So, I strung along my feelings on a white canvas board in hopes of creating something beautiful. I splattered transparent colors, here and there, and I was content with the product. This was me, trying to translate my thoughts, my council, my feelings through paint onto a fucking board. (You are making me feel blue, on a yellow day.) And all I can think about is this goddamn canvas; streaked with nothingness. And this is how I feel when I am trying to tell you how much you mean to me. And when I am with you, I feel a whole fucking spectrum of colors.
I fucking hate how much I care about you, because I know that when I finally realize that I can't be with you, it will fucking kill me. I fucking love you.
This was my millionth attempt to tell you how much I love you.
I fucking hate Wake County. "Hey guys! Let's be gay and redistrict people who live in Gaypex to fucking Holly Springs, because we're cute!"
Not.
I fucking hate how everything points back to you. I fucking hate how every song was written about you, or maybe it just seems that way because as I listen to every tempo, every note, every measure, I imagine myself in the seat of a lousy musician sipping a frap' as he anticipates the next word. It would be so easy to write about you, because I know all of your scars, and you know all of mine. (And I fucking hate it.) And yet, when I try to explain how I feel about you, the ending becomes the beginning and the first letters of every word in every new sentence are not capitalized, and I forget how to spell I, because it does not include you. But I try, and I try, and then I try, again, but I am always left with the same fucking conclusion. Every word I write is not worthy of you. So, now, I am trying to gather up the strength to pick out every word in the dictionary, so I can analyze it's every meaning and origin and so maybe, I could find just ONE word that could sum up how I feel. But I can't. And I have tried. I have fucking tried.
So, I strung along my feelings on a white canvas board in hopes of creating something beautiful. I splattered transparent colors, here and there, and I was content with the product. This was me, trying to translate my thoughts, my council, my feelings through paint onto a fucking board. (You are making me feel blue, on a yellow day.) And all I can think about is this goddamn canvas; streaked with nothingness. And this is how I feel when I am trying to tell you how much you mean to me. And when I am with you, I feel a whole fucking spectrum of colors.
I fucking hate how much I care about you, because I know that when I finally realize that I can't be with you, it will fucking kill me. I fucking love you.
This was my millionth attempt to tell you how much I love you.
I fucking hate Wake County. "Hey guys! Let's be gay and redistrict people who live in Gaypex to fucking Holly Springs, because we're cute!"
Not.