patchwork
I screwed up. Big time. What a surprise right?
I spoke with John tonight under a screen name of mine in which I havn't used in quite some time. I thought he had it - apparently not. I pretended to be someone else; wrong idea and would take it back for only his love. He lied to me. To the real me - but only so that I wouldn't have thought him any less of a person...think him any less of a person because of drugs a few times? Not possible - I think the world of him irregardless...he thinks differently. His lie was okay, and intentional for a purpose. Mine was not okay, I admit it, and not intentional. I thought he knew it was me before I pretended to be someone else. I wish he would talk to me.
It's hard when you start to feel for someone else. You become entwined in their life as well as your own and take on twice the load of stress. But when you spend the time simply with them all stress disappears, no worries exist, and its perfection at a time stand with the two of you. It's true bliss. I enjoy it so much when John and I lay together watching MTV on my dorm room bed. When we fall asleep in each other's arms in the middle of the afternoon watching "Ace Venture Pet Detective." While chasing one another down Sixth Avenue with snow balls in the middle of crowd traffic at night. I like those little things. I wish he would talk to me.
What is even more hard is when you try to patch something back together, that you accidentally pulled a loose thread to, and you don't have the right sized needle...or the correct color thread...to put back together what has been "broken." I really just wish he would talk to me.
I'm sad.
I spoke with John tonight under a screen name of mine in which I havn't used in quite some time. I thought he had it - apparently not. I pretended to be someone else; wrong idea and would take it back for only his love. He lied to me. To the real me - but only so that I wouldn't have thought him any less of a person...think him any less of a person because of drugs a few times? Not possible - I think the world of him irregardless...he thinks differently. His lie was okay, and intentional for a purpose. Mine was not okay, I admit it, and not intentional. I thought he knew it was me before I pretended to be someone else. I wish he would talk to me.
It's hard when you start to feel for someone else. You become entwined in their life as well as your own and take on twice the load of stress. But when you spend the time simply with them all stress disappears, no worries exist, and its perfection at a time stand with the two of you. It's true bliss. I enjoy it so much when John and I lay together watching MTV on my dorm room bed. When we fall asleep in each other's arms in the middle of the afternoon watching "Ace Venture Pet Detective." While chasing one another down Sixth Avenue with snow balls in the middle of crowd traffic at night. I like those little things. I wish he would talk to me.
What is even more hard is when you try to patch something back together, that you accidentally pulled a loose thread to, and you don't have the right sized needle...or the correct color thread...to put back together what has been "broken." I really just wish he would talk to me.
I'm sad.