(no subject)
I'm tired, so can we just sleep?
I am so completely a mess. I don't even know what to say.
The words are too jumbled- in my head, in my heart.
The only thing I am certain of is my love, I will never doubt that. I just wish that were enough.
I wish I were okay with myself. As okay with myself as you are.
It's just hard. Harder than I could ever convey to you, to anyone. It's so hard to always know what she looks like, how beautiful and tall and then and made of porcelain. You know that's what my best friend looks like, right (the first time I ever saw a picture of your ex I had to do a double-take)? And that it broke my heart standing next to her, pock marked, soft, and round. It still does. It always will. I just want people to think we match.
That I'm good enough for you. I'm thin enough and cute enough and don't say stupid things and can drink enough and use all of the right terminology for booze and pot and shish. That I'm not some stupid girl a year younger than you from rural West Virginia who isn't as smart as she thinks and is sheltered and loud and uncouth. Do you know what that's like? I'm breaking my own back to not be these things, and I'm always just... wrong. Clearly, wrong and embarrassed and almost always crying. I bet you don't notice that, how I'm always almost in tears, no matter what we talk about or what we're doing. Always a single step away.
I really.
I don't know what to say.
I used to want to travel and shop and look nice and work out and ride bikes. Now I just want to sleep and be alone and attempt to get through this alive. I probably won't.
I am so completely a mess. I don't even know what to say.
The words are too jumbled- in my head, in my heart.
The only thing I am certain of is my love, I will never doubt that. I just wish that were enough.
I wish I were okay with myself. As okay with myself as you are.
It's just hard. Harder than I could ever convey to you, to anyone. It's so hard to always know what she looks like, how beautiful and tall and then and made of porcelain. You know that's what my best friend looks like, right (the first time I ever saw a picture of your ex I had to do a double-take)? And that it broke my heart standing next to her, pock marked, soft, and round. It still does. It always will. I just want people to think we match.
That I'm good enough for you. I'm thin enough and cute enough and don't say stupid things and can drink enough and use all of the right terminology for booze and pot and shish. That I'm not some stupid girl a year younger than you from rural West Virginia who isn't as smart as she thinks and is sheltered and loud and uncouth. Do you know what that's like? I'm breaking my own back to not be these things, and I'm always just... wrong. Clearly, wrong and embarrassed and almost always crying. I bet you don't notice that, how I'm always almost in tears, no matter what we talk about or what we're doing. Always a single step away.
I really.
I don't know what to say.
I used to want to travel and shop and look nice and work out and ride bikes. Now I just want to sleep and be alone and attempt to get through this alive. I probably won't.