Green in Mammoth
Up in Mammoth with the man. Looking at the mountains, listening to the wind, wondering if I could possibly be here again with him. Well I guess that answer is, yes. But I think the terms and conditions would be not what I want and envision. I'm making the selfish but life-fulfilling choice to do what I've always wanted. Do it all the way or live with regrets, right? I let go of the real dream to pursue the next-best thing because of the man. Consequences come with that if people decide to take the scenic route, however.
I guess I can't expect him not to stray. But deep down, I know that I have to prepare myself to getting my heart ripped again by him. Way to fuck me again like you got fucked and have continued to fuck over women (like I'm one to talk).
But, I know who he has been before me. I know who he's become for me, and I am so thankful for that. I know who I became for, for him. It was actually easy. Something about him and everything we are makes it effortless. I want to have faith, but can already sense that time and distance (and several servings of booze) will have huge potential to lead him to some friendly old broad that'll rawk his world until he gets bored or she wanders off.
I want to believe in him.
I want to believe he'll tell me when it happens.
I want to believe he'll tell me when it happens, I can do the same, and we can come full circle a year from now and revisit what we had.
If he never told me the first time around, however, could he be man enough to tell me now? He sure as hell better prove it.
Fucking A.
Above all else, I'd prefer honesty because I can keep my shit straight these days. I don't live in one of the biggest fucking cities in the US, without the biggest fucking relationship opportunities open to me every day I talk to men I don't know, and stay honest for the fun of it.
My negativity and fear, so fun keeping me up at night. After talking to people about panic attacks, I figured out the oh so obvious root of mine, which has helped. Now I just lay in bed silently running scenarios and asking questions in my head. Who will he go for first? How long until I forgive myself for giving him a second chance? What ugly bitch (because honestly, no amount of face paint, fake gay hair extensions, face lifts, or corsets will make these goth broads look good the morning after. Oh, forget the fact you don't have a real job or brains.) will sweat like a pig all over his bed?
This is much more preferable to having panic attacks and feeling like there isn't enough oxygen in the world to keep me alive. Why does what I want make me realize I may lose what I have for good?
Too bad the green tint that accumulates on my skin isn't that pretty.
I guess I can't expect him not to stray. But deep down, I know that I have to prepare myself to getting my heart ripped again by him. Way to fuck me again like you got fucked and have continued to fuck over women (like I'm one to talk).
But, I know who he has been before me. I know who he's become for me, and I am so thankful for that. I know who I became for, for him. It was actually easy. Something about him and everything we are makes it effortless. I want to have faith, but can already sense that time and distance (and several servings of booze) will have huge potential to lead him to some friendly old broad that'll rawk his world until he gets bored or she wanders off.
I want to believe in him.
I want to believe he'll tell me when it happens.
I want to believe he'll tell me when it happens, I can do the same, and we can come full circle a year from now and revisit what we had.
If he never told me the first time around, however, could he be man enough to tell me now? He sure as hell better prove it.
Fucking A.
Above all else, I'd prefer honesty because I can keep my shit straight these days. I don't live in one of the biggest fucking cities in the US, without the biggest fucking relationship opportunities open to me every day I talk to men I don't know, and stay honest for the fun of it.
My negativity and fear, so fun keeping me up at night. After talking to people about panic attacks, I figured out the oh so obvious root of mine, which has helped. Now I just lay in bed silently running scenarios and asking questions in my head. Who will he go for first? How long until I forgive myself for giving him a second chance? What ugly bitch (because honestly, no amount of face paint, fake gay hair extensions, face lifts, or corsets will make these goth broads look good the morning after. Oh, forget the fact you don't have a real job or brains.) will sweat like a pig all over his bed?
This is much more preferable to having panic attacks and feeling like there isn't enough oxygen in the world to keep me alive. Why does what I want make me realize I may lose what I have for good?
Too bad the green tint that accumulates on my skin isn't that pretty.