pregame
I’ve been trying.
I make my bed in the mornings.
I declutter. Dust.
I cook.
Try to pick a movie I’ve wanted to see and really watch it, not just have it on in the background.
Talk on the phone with friends.
Capture the interplay of light and shadow moving across my apartment in the late afternoon.
Play music and not be afraid to feel.
I remind myself over and over again how you don’t meet the bare minimum requirement for anything I want.
It’s over, not that you ever wanted to start.
I made up all the best parts of you.
Running away with a fantasy of being chosen.
Of how you’d transform my life. Your specialness. How we were fated to meet.
I can delude myself into accepting almost anything except the fact you’re not in love with me.
Everything I come up with, you just say “me too.”
I thought if you could say you love me, I could say it back without you questioning it.
I thought my declaration of love would be immune from scrutiny, because if you didn’t believe me, why would I believe you?
All we’d be doing is lying to each other.
I tell myself I’m not afraid of the truth, so long as we both acknowledge reality.
But you don’t want me to hate you. You hate to disappoint.
So you’d rather do this. Give me less and less and have me do the hard part for you.
You’ve always been a liar and a coward.
You’ve always mostly wanted sex.
You’ve always performed the same act. It’s fun until it becomes real, then it’s not fun anymore. You don’t want love.
I sure as fuck won’t be the one to reform you or arrive at a different outcome.
Your excuses are so weak, that you even proffer them is for no reason other than daring me not to get the hint.
You hate the idea you can treat me badly and I’d still stick around, because of what it says about the kind of person you attract.
You gave me the blueprint to your psychology long ago. I was too fixated on exploiting it to win your love while overlooking all your damage. When you said it’d never work out between us, I assumed it was because of some deficiency in me. Now I realise it’s because of who you are.
I make my bed in the mornings.
I declutter. Dust.
I cook.
Try to pick a movie I’ve wanted to see and really watch it, not just have it on in the background.
Talk on the phone with friends.
Capture the interplay of light and shadow moving across my apartment in the late afternoon.
Play music and not be afraid to feel.
I remind myself over and over again how you don’t meet the bare minimum requirement for anything I want.
It’s over, not that you ever wanted to start.
I made up all the best parts of you.
Running away with a fantasy of being chosen.
Of how you’d transform my life. Your specialness. How we were fated to meet.
I can delude myself into accepting almost anything except the fact you’re not in love with me.
Everything I come up with, you just say “me too.”
I thought if you could say you love me, I could say it back without you questioning it.
I thought my declaration of love would be immune from scrutiny, because if you didn’t believe me, why would I believe you?
All we’d be doing is lying to each other.
I tell myself I’m not afraid of the truth, so long as we both acknowledge reality.
But you don’t want me to hate you. You hate to disappoint.
So you’d rather do this. Give me less and less and have me do the hard part for you.
You’ve always been a liar and a coward.
You’ve always mostly wanted sex.
You’ve always performed the same act. It’s fun until it becomes real, then it’s not fun anymore. You don’t want love.
I sure as fuck won’t be the one to reform you or arrive at a different outcome.
Your excuses are so weak, that you even proffer them is for no reason other than daring me not to get the hint.
You hate the idea you can treat me badly and I’d still stick around, because of what it says about the kind of person you attract.
You gave me the blueprint to your psychology long ago. I was too fixated on exploiting it to win your love while overlooking all your damage. When you said it’d never work out between us, I assumed it was because of some deficiency in me. Now I realise it’s because of who you are.