fucking lost
i want to cry. all of the time. and i feel like such a tool expressing it like this, but i can just feel it building up and even the tiniest things that go wrong depress the hell out of me, but i cannot have the cathartic release of a cry. so im just depressed. and then violently happy when im not alone. does that make me bipolar? or just an angsty teenager? or just pathetic? because i feel pathetic.
But for someone to tell you that they somehow stopped missing you, you're pretty much screwed -- no matter what you say.
There had to be something that no one had ever said in the history of the world, something that could change this.
something could change this: a simple phone call. a kiss. a kept promise. a hug. a real conversation.
anything could change this. but you dont necessarily want things to be any different than they are. you are satisfied with this. i am not.
and maybe ill never really be satisfied with how things are. maybe i never have been. so maybe people have stopped trying. i know some have. the lack of effort and conversation and even fucking acknowledgment is astonishing. i am tired of being the only one trying.
maybe the problem is i dont know myself, much less anyone else, anymore.
i am tired. i cant sleep.
i have a paper. i cant write.
i have to read. i cant see.
i want to talk to you. i cant call.
i want to cry. i cant feel.
But for someone to tell you that they somehow stopped missing you, you're pretty much screwed -- no matter what you say.
There had to be something that no one had ever said in the history of the world, something that could change this.
something could change this: a simple phone call. a kiss. a kept promise. a hug. a real conversation.
anything could change this. but you dont necessarily want things to be any different than they are. you are satisfied with this. i am not.
and maybe ill never really be satisfied with how things are. maybe i never have been. so maybe people have stopped trying. i know some have. the lack of effort and conversation and even fucking acknowledgment is astonishing. i am tired of being the only one trying.
maybe the problem is i dont know myself, much less anyone else, anymore.
i am tired. i cant sleep.
i have a paper. i cant write.
i have to read. i cant see.
i want to talk to you. i cant call.
i want to cry. i cant feel.