(no subject)
I feel so many emotions. It's so hard to deal with so many emotions. I'm so emotional, but there's nothing I can do about it. I feel so strongly, yet nothing I can do will calm them. They're passionate. They're angry. They're wonderful. They're terrible. They're so normal, but so misunderstood.
It's like I never learned to love. No one ever walked me through it. No one taught me how to do it. No one told me that it's real, and it's not enough to feel, it's not enough to promise, it's not enough to try.
You misunderstand them so terribly that I have no idea how to react. They're so right, yet you think they're so wrong. You think I'm wrong. You think I'm selfish, yet all I want is to make you happy.
All I want is to be happy. Maybe I've spent so long putting off my own priorities, not being satisfied, that I'm losing sight of what wanting to make you happy feels like. But I don't think that's true. That's the trap. It makes me so upset that you feel that way. No one has ever felt that way. Thinking about it just makes me hurt.
I'm sitting here late at night going through your stuff. I'm just trying to make you happy. Yet you don't even make half the effort to make me happy. How could you call me selfish? I can't continue to think about it or I will begin to become selfish. I do my best to make you happy, but I can't do any better than my best. I think you will come around some day. I love you. It shows, but you can't see it. I hope that you will see it some day.
If you don't, I will continue. I'm hardened and calloused, but that's what allows me to survive. It makes me dull. It might make me unpleasant, but it allows me to survive. Maybe if you can penetrate my shell, I'll know you're worth it.
I'm so hopeless for you, but so unconvinced. I'm so torn. Everything in me says you're perfect, and that's exactly why I'm not convinced. I will wait for you to tear my world apart to know for sure.
I just wish you knew how much I'm not satisfied. Then maybe you wouldn't call me selfish. Then maybe you wouldn't hurt me like you do.
I get to the point that I have so many things pent up inside of me that I need to get out, but the more I try to let them out, the more distorted they get.
Nobody's free. Even the birds are chained to the sky.
It's like I never learned to love. No one ever walked me through it. No one taught me how to do it. No one told me that it's real, and it's not enough to feel, it's not enough to promise, it's not enough to try.
You misunderstand them so terribly that I have no idea how to react. They're so right, yet you think they're so wrong. You think I'm wrong. You think I'm selfish, yet all I want is to make you happy.
All I want is to be happy. Maybe I've spent so long putting off my own priorities, not being satisfied, that I'm losing sight of what wanting to make you happy feels like. But I don't think that's true. That's the trap. It makes me so upset that you feel that way. No one has ever felt that way. Thinking about it just makes me hurt.
I'm sitting here late at night going through your stuff. I'm just trying to make you happy. Yet you don't even make half the effort to make me happy. How could you call me selfish? I can't continue to think about it or I will begin to become selfish. I do my best to make you happy, but I can't do any better than my best. I think you will come around some day. I love you. It shows, but you can't see it. I hope that you will see it some day.
If you don't, I will continue. I'm hardened and calloused, but that's what allows me to survive. It makes me dull. It might make me unpleasant, but it allows me to survive. Maybe if you can penetrate my shell, I'll know you're worth it.
I'm so hopeless for you, but so unconvinced. I'm so torn. Everything in me says you're perfect, and that's exactly why I'm not convinced. I will wait for you to tear my world apart to know for sure.
I just wish you knew how much I'm not satisfied. Then maybe you wouldn't call me selfish. Then maybe you wouldn't hurt me like you do.
I get to the point that I have so many things pent up inside of me that I need to get out, but the more I try to let them out, the more distorted they get.
Nobody's free. Even the birds are chained to the sky.