Falling from Fantasy 101: The Art of Playing Dead
You
seem to know how to push the fire. It burns the box we live in... isn't
it a shame the game persists like this? The game persists like this --
falling out of love with you.
The room is spinning like I've been on a carousel for hours. How is this possible? Why is it that I have to work for days, months, years to bury you, and it takes you two seconds to undo me? All I had to do to not think of you, to breathe without you, was pretend you were dead. And it wasn't hard, I gave you a lovely funeral and even enjoyed mourning you for quite some time.You had your new friends, your new girlfriend, your new life. Brand new, shiny life that shone especially bright because of my exclusion. Suddenly you are standing before me as if nothing had ever gone wrong.
I am telling you now that it had. You did do me wrong -- you did kiss my friends and forget to call me. You lied with the same lips you used to kiss me. You were the first I had ever wanted, and I trusted you. Those big, beautiful brown eyes of yours held so many secrets, and I was uncontrollably naive. Heaven help me.
What frightens me most is that I still adore you. I am fearfully aware of my continued infatuation with you, of my wish that you had never been a cheating son of a bitch and the layers upon layers of lies that I tell myself to cover the reality that you are one. I smile when I read your words, laugh when I hear your voice, and turn pink from ear to ear when I look at you. The fact that I still refer to your gorgeous eyes as gorgeous gives me a panic attack. I still want you to kiss me and tell me those sugary lies. Why are you so important? Thinking of you too much at once is a punch in the chest. How do I get rid of you?
My mother hates you. I wish I could.
The room is spinning like I've been on a carousel for hours. How is this possible? Why is it that I have to work for days, months, years to bury you, and it takes you two seconds to undo me? All I had to do to not think of you, to breathe without you, was pretend you were dead. And it wasn't hard, I gave you a lovely funeral and even enjoyed mourning you for quite some time.You had your new friends, your new girlfriend, your new life. Brand new, shiny life that shone especially bright because of my exclusion. Suddenly you are standing before me as if nothing had ever gone wrong.
I am telling you now that it had. You did do me wrong -- you did kiss my friends and forget to call me. You lied with the same lips you used to kiss me. You were the first I had ever wanted, and I trusted you. Those big, beautiful brown eyes of yours held so many secrets, and I was uncontrollably naive. Heaven help me.
What frightens me most is that I still adore you. I am fearfully aware of my continued infatuation with you, of my wish that you had never been a cheating son of a bitch and the layers upon layers of lies that I tell myself to cover the reality that you are one. I smile when I read your words, laugh when I hear your voice, and turn pink from ear to ear when I look at you. The fact that I still refer to your gorgeous eyes as gorgeous gives me a panic attack. I still want you to kiss me and tell me those sugary lies. Why are you so important? Thinking of you too much at once is a punch in the chest. How do I get rid of you?
My mother hates you. I wish I could.