"I smoke your brand of cigarretes and pray that you might give me a call."
As I cross the great journey to the daily grind once again, in this strange place, this foreign place, I soak in the new sights and scenes. Foreign license plates. New trees. Hills without overabundances of trees. It's a combination of different things I've come to like and dislike in places i've lived, scrambled, shaken, and poured mixed into a best of and worst of combined compilation. The green I oh so love from the northwest is present, but also are the terribly damaged paint jobs on old cars, as well as new cars that are far too expensive for anyone to need.
Meanwhile experimental punk runs through my ears, as Garbage cleanly thrashes its haunting as well as stunning melodies, which seep through me, not quite absorbed, but not quite glossed over. I'm getting there.
But my mind is not on these things. I still resent the person who I've recently lost. The friend I can't stand to bring myself back to. If I could even call her that. Although it's probably rather dramatic to erase the good when the most recently remembered is so terrible that it makes you doubt what you remember as better.
I'm sad. I'm hurt. But do I really care? Well, yes. You try flying across the country for someone and getting blown off. It's kinda terrible. Although most things I get from her were. I thought giving it another go, keeping my distance, would have worked, but I don't think so. In the end the result is the same. Someone who doesn't care for you will continue not to. Someone who can't see past their own ego still won't.
It sucks, but what can you do? It takes two to tango after all. And I've doubted myself and questioned myself enough to know it's not me. When you insult someone with an open mind they pay attention. They take in every detail, and figure out whether you were right or not. If you were they get over it, and they get better. That's why I love people who speak their mind. When they're right they're helpful if you know how to listen (even if it takes some time for the message to get through).
But when they're wrong, then you have to return the blow and say no, actually, it's XYZ. And they aren't too happy about that. If their ego is small enough i suppose they can look past their inability to believe it and at least check if it's true. It's like someone who is sure (in their mind) that their pants are zipped, and when you tell them they're not they refuse to even look (even though they're wrong). Imagine passing someone on the street like that. What would you say? And when they blow off your advice, what do you think? Do you feel sorry for them? Yes. Yes you do. Now imagine it's someone that you know. Someone you care that looks like an idiot. And they walk away and you know that saying something will yield nothing new.
The wind picks up, the squirrels scurry by. Life moves on and so must I. The unfamiliar takes me in and I am lifeless... I am alive but I am not me. I am someone else. I am a product of who i was and what has happened. I am the future. In each and every moment. That which is gone is but a memory, an outdated instruction manual. Make way for the new model. Will it still have the same glitches? Does it still break if you do this...?
Without you I am free, but without you I am without a part of myself. A part I very much liked for the time when it was good, and a part that ached like a cancer when it turned on me. And like cancer it had to be removed when it became toxic. The memory remains, like a severed limb. It's still there, but then it's not. I could try moving it, but what would be the point? Pattern shows it would only go the same way.
It's better this way. I try to tell myself that, but in the end, you can only let time and distance from it convince you; Telling myself only helps provide hope, not proof.
I even fantasize occasionally. Daydream as I walk. There you are driving up, yelling at me as you always do. Pretending nothing was ever wrong, ignoring your own faults and failing to take responsibility for what you've done. (Can I count the ways you make me think of my mother?) And I turn away and you get on my case for being rude. I turn to face you. And I explode. I unleash hell.
"What the fuck? You think after you bail on me after i flew across the country for you and you can get by without so much as an I'm sorry? That would have been the least you could have done. But if that weren't enough you don't even tell me. I have to hunt you down with phone calls to find out you don't give a shit that I arranged my flight to see you. That i fought with my mom to be able to see you. I wanted to see you. That I was crushed because I knew you would do this to me and i lied to myself and promised you wouldn't. There's nothing left. You told me in your own words I wasn't important. Not even worth the 5 minutes to call. Don't even. I forgave you once, I put in all the effort that I could to make this work one way or another and you don't even care. You don't deserve another. You want it, you have to earn it. And it's not my job to decide how you do. I deserve better. You deserve to grow up. Start taking your own fucking advice. Goodbye."
You stand there. Starstruck that I might actually be right. Actually no, you refuse to even listen. You come up with ways to spin it back on me. I'm already deaf to your lies. I'm already walking away, I start to cry, but I refuse to let you see it.
I smoke your brand of cigarettes and pray that you might give me a call.
The issue is sheltered in my mind. I've reached my workplace, and there I have other things to think about. I am free, even if temporarily from what wreaks havoc on my mind and spirit to think about.
It took a cup of coffee to prove that you don't love me.
Fuck it, I think, as I walk inside. I have better things to do. Better things in my life. And if I could only get this off my mind I'd do much better at the good things. That's why I won't go back. Because this would only happen again. I only wish for good terms but know that these are the only terms we can ask for. I go my way. You go yours. No victory, no defeat. Only the lesson that we must learn, whether we accept it or not. There's no one to tell us who fucked up. There's no one left to teach us. We've only ourselves to confide in, to reflect with, to laugh with, to cry with. If I was wrong I hope i learn how and why, and I hope I'm better next time. If I'm right, I hope the same for you. I'm not optimistic for you, based on what I think, but I could be wrong. I hope I am. I would rather be wrong and the one to fuck everything up than the one who's right and who's ignored.
Besides. Whether I have many of them in my life or not, I know there are people who will give a damn about me. Who will know who i am, perhaps even better than I do. Who won't toss me aside like you did. Who will value me and whom I can value. Who cries for me, or on me, as i do for or on them. I'm lucky to know a few. I hope to know a few more. And I hope for those people to be there for you, whether you like it or not.
But as for me, it's clear what you think. It's clear where I fall on your life's hierarchy of importance. Some of that is your fault. Some of it isn't. What hurts is that you were higher on mine. Much higher. And that's why I need to leave. And that's why I did.
As time moves on it's easier not to think about it. As time moves on i fear less and less that you will call and I'll be forced to deal with this again. As time moves on I forgive myself for the mistakes I've made, and i get closer to being at peace.
Time to move forward. The door closes behind me and I take a deep breath, and another step onward.
----------------
Now playing: Garbage - Cup Of Coffee
via FoxyTunes
Disclaimer: This was born of a broken heart. Not one of romance, but one who genuinely cared for someone who took my cares for granted. I don't want feedback. This journal isn't about being emo. It's about self expression. I'm trying to make it artistic. I'm trying to make it a release for what I feel, and not only relieve the pressure i feel but paint a picture with it with how i choose to express it. If what I have written moves you in some way, please feel free to say something. If not, feel free not to. Links to this journal have been removed from my facebook and other personally identifying sites long ago, so I regard it as public, but only insofar as that anyone in the internet can read it. It is not publicly meant to be related to me. If you know who I am, if you know who this is about, etc. then of course it's your right to pass along information, quote, etc. but as i have left it anonymous, it wouldn't be me putting a name to the story.
Meanwhile experimental punk runs through my ears, as Garbage cleanly thrashes its haunting as well as stunning melodies, which seep through me, not quite absorbed, but not quite glossed over. I'm getting there.
But my mind is not on these things. I still resent the person who I've recently lost. The friend I can't stand to bring myself back to. If I could even call her that. Although it's probably rather dramatic to erase the good when the most recently remembered is so terrible that it makes you doubt what you remember as better.
I'm sad. I'm hurt. But do I really care? Well, yes. You try flying across the country for someone and getting blown off. It's kinda terrible. Although most things I get from her were. I thought giving it another go, keeping my distance, would have worked, but I don't think so. In the end the result is the same. Someone who doesn't care for you will continue not to. Someone who can't see past their own ego still won't.
It sucks, but what can you do? It takes two to tango after all. And I've doubted myself and questioned myself enough to know it's not me. When you insult someone with an open mind they pay attention. They take in every detail, and figure out whether you were right or not. If you were they get over it, and they get better. That's why I love people who speak their mind. When they're right they're helpful if you know how to listen (even if it takes some time for the message to get through).
But when they're wrong, then you have to return the blow and say no, actually, it's XYZ. And they aren't too happy about that. If their ego is small enough i suppose they can look past their inability to believe it and at least check if it's true. It's like someone who is sure (in their mind) that their pants are zipped, and when you tell them they're not they refuse to even look (even though they're wrong). Imagine passing someone on the street like that. What would you say? And when they blow off your advice, what do you think? Do you feel sorry for them? Yes. Yes you do. Now imagine it's someone that you know. Someone you care that looks like an idiot. And they walk away and you know that saying something will yield nothing new.
The wind picks up, the squirrels scurry by. Life moves on and so must I. The unfamiliar takes me in and I am lifeless... I am alive but I am not me. I am someone else. I am a product of who i was and what has happened. I am the future. In each and every moment. That which is gone is but a memory, an outdated instruction manual. Make way for the new model. Will it still have the same glitches? Does it still break if you do this...?
Without you I am free, but without you I am without a part of myself. A part I very much liked for the time when it was good, and a part that ached like a cancer when it turned on me. And like cancer it had to be removed when it became toxic. The memory remains, like a severed limb. It's still there, but then it's not. I could try moving it, but what would be the point? Pattern shows it would only go the same way.
It's better this way. I try to tell myself that, but in the end, you can only let time and distance from it convince you; Telling myself only helps provide hope, not proof.
I even fantasize occasionally. Daydream as I walk. There you are driving up, yelling at me as you always do. Pretending nothing was ever wrong, ignoring your own faults and failing to take responsibility for what you've done. (Can I count the ways you make me think of my mother?) And I turn away and you get on my case for being rude. I turn to face you. And I explode. I unleash hell.
"What the fuck? You think after you bail on me after i flew across the country for you and you can get by without so much as an I'm sorry? That would have been the least you could have done. But if that weren't enough you don't even tell me. I have to hunt you down with phone calls to find out you don't give a shit that I arranged my flight to see you. That i fought with my mom to be able to see you. I wanted to see you. That I was crushed because I knew you would do this to me and i lied to myself and promised you wouldn't. There's nothing left. You told me in your own words I wasn't important. Not even worth the 5 minutes to call. Don't even. I forgave you once, I put in all the effort that I could to make this work one way or another and you don't even care. You don't deserve another. You want it, you have to earn it. And it's not my job to decide how you do. I deserve better. You deserve to grow up. Start taking your own fucking advice. Goodbye."
You stand there. Starstruck that I might actually be right. Actually no, you refuse to even listen. You come up with ways to spin it back on me. I'm already deaf to your lies. I'm already walking away, I start to cry, but I refuse to let you see it.
I smoke your brand of cigarettes and pray that you might give me a call.
The issue is sheltered in my mind. I've reached my workplace, and there I have other things to think about. I am free, even if temporarily from what wreaks havoc on my mind and spirit to think about.
It took a cup of coffee to prove that you don't love me.
Fuck it, I think, as I walk inside. I have better things to do. Better things in my life. And if I could only get this off my mind I'd do much better at the good things. That's why I won't go back. Because this would only happen again. I only wish for good terms but know that these are the only terms we can ask for. I go my way. You go yours. No victory, no defeat. Only the lesson that we must learn, whether we accept it or not. There's no one to tell us who fucked up. There's no one left to teach us. We've only ourselves to confide in, to reflect with, to laugh with, to cry with. If I was wrong I hope i learn how and why, and I hope I'm better next time. If I'm right, I hope the same for you. I'm not optimistic for you, based on what I think, but I could be wrong. I hope I am. I would rather be wrong and the one to fuck everything up than the one who's right and who's ignored.
Besides. Whether I have many of them in my life or not, I know there are people who will give a damn about me. Who will know who i am, perhaps even better than I do. Who won't toss me aside like you did. Who will value me and whom I can value. Who cries for me, or on me, as i do for or on them. I'm lucky to know a few. I hope to know a few more. And I hope for those people to be there for you, whether you like it or not.
But as for me, it's clear what you think. It's clear where I fall on your life's hierarchy of importance. Some of that is your fault. Some of it isn't. What hurts is that you were higher on mine. Much higher. And that's why I need to leave. And that's why I did.
As time moves on it's easier not to think about it. As time moves on i fear less and less that you will call and I'll be forced to deal with this again. As time moves on I forgive myself for the mistakes I've made, and i get closer to being at peace.
Time to move forward. The door closes behind me and I take a deep breath, and another step onward.
----------------
Now playing: Garbage - Cup Of Coffee
via FoxyTunes
Disclaimer: This was born of a broken heart. Not one of romance, but one who genuinely cared for someone who took my cares for granted. I don't want feedback. This journal isn't about being emo. It's about self expression. I'm trying to make it artistic. I'm trying to make it a release for what I feel, and not only relieve the pressure i feel but paint a picture with it with how i choose to express it. If what I have written moves you in some way, please feel free to say something. If not, feel free not to. Links to this journal have been removed from my facebook and other personally identifying sites long ago, so I regard it as public, but only insofar as that anyone in the internet can read it. It is not publicly meant to be related to me. If you know who I am, if you know who this is about, etc. then of course it's your right to pass along information, quote, etc. but as i have left it anonymous, it wouldn't be me putting a name to the story.