(no subject)
you don't love me. you couldn't possibly love someone so impulsive, so destructive. i lay my head on your chest to hear your heart beat, wondering if its speed would increase or decrease in my absense. i wonder if your eyes would be darker, or wider, or shut tight. i wonder if you would even say a word, without being forced to. i can picture your full lips closed tight, and i must admit to myself that you always looked more comfortable that way. i just wanted to shake things up! i told you to never fall in love with me because i would destroy you, thus destroying this gigantic intangible piece of myself. and it's still alright because you don't love me. sure, your eyes visibly soften when i enter a room. and sure, you run your fingertips along the contours of my face as if you are trying to memorize my bone structure. and sure, you write me letters as all lovers do. that doesn't mean you would give up your shelter, your wall that has been built up from the ground since you were a child. we are passionate, together. yet your blank expression and closed throat aren't even needed to tell me that i failed to break it down. you don't love me. you couldn't.
i don't know why i am always lying to myself. i don't even know why i am writing this.
i'm overly pathetic, to say the least.
i don't know why i am always lying to myself. i don't even know why i am writing this.
i'm overly pathetic, to say the least.