(no subject)
even though i keep having some unbelievably earth moving moments, i feel uncomfortably vulnerable right now. I know you think I think too much and i think the wrong and assume so much, which is wrong. Although often my assumptions are correct -- this seems just an oxymoron for you. You are compassionate in pleasure but selfish still and you might read this and wonder how i could feel so but you know, you know i deserve to feel this way and only everything you have ever done makes me feel this way. I love you so much that i know what i have to do to keep on loving you. forget this inferiority, which maybe i am creating for myself. even so though, in thinking this i know that is not true for it would be your only rebuttal and by that it is invalid, invalid for everytime you use it: you are wrong.
i had a moment, man, a real moment in which i hugged you and felt your warmth and smelled your smell and touched your neck to mine and felt the brustle against the soft and contrast that sharpened my heart. Oh I felt so real, I could cry and I didn't know why I had to stop myself, stop anything at all. While I resisted I knew it was only because I feared I couldn't fall. And you can't play that music, that music from the longest month of my life. the longest month with the most pain and the most unexplained intended pain. you play that music that i introduced you to and you think i can love you? after an event of disappointing social realization, epiphany.
and now i'm getting angry, i'm in an angry phase because i'm so so terrified because i don't do the simple shit i needed to do and i'm scared. and you're not scared. you're still so dependent that life will work out and whatever needs to happen will happen. i can't trust that faith, that probability. it hurts me and it scares me to not try. to give up and let live what is because that, to me, is letting go of what could be. and i know you can feel it, feel my hostility. in a blink, in a slight movement, an ever less than noticeable flinch, you realize i'm unwell, i'm different than i was just a second ago. yes, baby, i can see in your eyes as you watch me, you watch me think. You may not be able to read my mind but you can read my body language -- oh so well. and I deny it when you ask, when you ask are you mad, when i know you meant to say are you okay? I know you meant to say that. Still, I remind myself you asked the easy question (and I am relieved). You asked if i was mad, and I am not so I say no and then it is only a half-lie. For you know and I know, I am not mad. I am sort of discontented, yet indifferent, and I guess sad.
and you call me to feel your instant relief of hurting me. you couldn't reply to the message that i may or may not read sooner or later and you couldn't rely on the text you sent to insure i heard of your repair. but I did not respond because i wanted to be sure you could feel regret, intsy teensy remorse for doing something so unimportant that still caused a pinch in the blood going to my heart or my soul or the pit in my throat, whatever is feeling this sick, sick feeling, which I'm sure is love because it's the only behavior i've ever been sure of.
it's true, although i know whatever is wrong i still feel it's due. i don't know what i'm saying because i've stopped looking at the keys and instead i've closed my eyes and tilted back my head and i'm trying to feel the words i type because it's all that is real in this moment, in this life.
i had a moment, man, a real moment in which i hugged you and felt your warmth and smelled your smell and touched your neck to mine and felt the brustle against the soft and contrast that sharpened my heart. Oh I felt so real, I could cry and I didn't know why I had to stop myself, stop anything at all. While I resisted I knew it was only because I feared I couldn't fall. And you can't play that music, that music from the longest month of my life. the longest month with the most pain and the most unexplained intended pain. you play that music that i introduced you to and you think i can love you? after an event of disappointing social realization, epiphany.
and now i'm getting angry, i'm in an angry phase because i'm so so terrified because i don't do the simple shit i needed to do and i'm scared. and you're not scared. you're still so dependent that life will work out and whatever needs to happen will happen. i can't trust that faith, that probability. it hurts me and it scares me to not try. to give up and let live what is because that, to me, is letting go of what could be. and i know you can feel it, feel my hostility. in a blink, in a slight movement, an ever less than noticeable flinch, you realize i'm unwell, i'm different than i was just a second ago. yes, baby, i can see in your eyes as you watch me, you watch me think. You may not be able to read my mind but you can read my body language -- oh so well. and I deny it when you ask, when you ask are you mad, when i know you meant to say are you okay? I know you meant to say that. Still, I remind myself you asked the easy question (and I am relieved). You asked if i was mad, and I am not so I say no and then it is only a half-lie. For you know and I know, I am not mad. I am sort of discontented, yet indifferent, and I guess sad.
and you call me to feel your instant relief of hurting me. you couldn't reply to the message that i may or may not read sooner or later and you couldn't rely on the text you sent to insure i heard of your repair. but I did not respond because i wanted to be sure you could feel regret, intsy teensy remorse for doing something so unimportant that still caused a pinch in the blood going to my heart or my soul or the pit in my throat, whatever is feeling this sick, sick feeling, which I'm sure is love because it's the only behavior i've ever been sure of.
it's true, although i know whatever is wrong i still feel it's due. i don't know what i'm saying because i've stopped looking at the keys and instead i've closed my eyes and tilted back my head and i'm trying to feel the words i type because it's all that is real in this moment, in this life.