Wrecking Ball.
I can almost follow it back to my stay in hospital. Perhaps you may say it was way before. Perhaps you may say it was me. Perhaps you never read this.
But it was my stay in hospital that changed us.
In November, I saw potential. In December I saw reality, a reality that love hadn't blurred.
I guess it could have been some sort of PTSD. Or some existential crisis. But I was dying, like we all are, but mine was more black and white. I was killing myself.
And you HAD to go an say it.
I guess it was life, and death and all that gritty stuff. Instead of looking at all the other stuff in my life. I looked at you. It was easy. You even bought up the fact that you had come to the hospital despite being broke, like I was supposed to give you a fucking medal.
It was all that, and me, well mostly just me.
I didn't want to break up over the Holidays, but boy didn't Christmas suck? I had no hope of having a wholesome, healthy life by next year, what with my smoking habit, my double life and my 20 year old Child Friend. Oh what my life looked like from the outside.
Fair enough, we lived in a cocoon of sex and fights. Both of us shielding each other from the Roger's of each other's lives. We probably wouldn't have even had a look passed in our direction, but oh how fucking cowardly we were at the thought.
So I dumped you and fell in love with you again. Sucks to be me.
I can only speculate about your feelings in this. But I am quite sure I saw disgust.
A disgust at how low I would stoop to regain control. How far I would go to manipulate and seduce you. Most of all you were probably disgusted that I let you go through that pain, only take it all back.
I would feel disgusted too.
Gone was the girl who would grab your crotch cheekily in the most public place, the girl whose hair you could lose yourself in, the girl who was so so out of your peripheral vision that you had a crick in you neck just looking at her. The girl that made your heart sing.
I lost you with each tear.
I guess that's supposed to tell me something. But I won't listen.
I won't listen to anything, to anyone, to all the signs and words and the new girl who tell me so so loudly that you are unreachable, lost to me.
I only listen to that voice in my heart that tells me where I have been. Where you are now.
Safe, happy, accepted, loved, normal, stable.
Unchallenged, unmotivated, misunderstood, undisputed. unquestioned. Content, bored.
But then I am colour. You're are black and white. Everyone said it, but I never listened and I longed everyday to show you how to paint, but here you are painting exquisitely in black and white.
I listen to the voice and know you may never listen to yours.
You may never feel the need to be challenged, you may never feel the need to lose balance for love.
You may die, get fat, have children, and get married, unchallenged, unloved, dispassionate.
And you will be happy. Because you are tired of being out of control.
But I am tired too Dilan, I am tired of waiting for you to see me. Waiting for you to be truthful. Waiting for you to turn your disgust into understanding. Tired of waiting for you to let me grow up, just see that I've grown up.
Tired of waiting for you to throw it all away for one chance at chaos.
Because its me. And I don't have to tell you who I am. The pain in your heart that you only feel at night when she is not next to you, that's me, and in a few months from now, it will be gone.
I'm gone. I'm tired. I hurt and I'm angry at myself.
But I am me, I am powerful, I am truthful, I am loving, I am sensual. I am beautiful. I am insane. I'm indomitable. I am not disgusting. I am tired.
Of waiting for you to see me.
I guess it was life, and death and all that gritty stuff. Instead of looking at all the other stuff in my life. I looked at you. It was easy. You even bought up the fact that you had come to the hospital despite being broke, like I was supposed to give you a fucking medal.
It was all that, and me, well mostly just me.
I didn't want to break up over the Holidays, but boy didn't Christmas suck? I had no hope of having a wholesome, healthy life by next year, what with my smoking habit, my double life and my 20 year old Child Friend. Oh what my life looked like from the outside.
Fair enough, we lived in a cocoon of sex and fights. Both of us shielding each other from the Roger's of each other's lives. We probably wouldn't have even had a look passed in our direction, but oh how fucking cowardly we were at the thought.
So I dumped you and fell in love with you again. Sucks to be me.
I can only speculate about your feelings in this. But I am quite sure I saw disgust.
A disgust at how low I would stoop to regain control. How far I would go to manipulate and seduce you. Most of all you were probably disgusted that I let you go through that pain, only take it all back.
I would feel disgusted too.
Gone was the girl who would grab your crotch cheekily in the most public place, the girl whose hair you could lose yourself in, the girl who was so so out of your peripheral vision that you had a crick in you neck just looking at her. The girl that made your heart sing.
I lost you with each tear.
I guess that's supposed to tell me something. But I won't listen.
I won't listen to anything, to anyone, to all the signs and words and the new girl who tell me so so loudly that you are unreachable, lost to me.
I only listen to that voice in my heart that tells me where I have been. Where you are now.
Safe, happy, accepted, loved, normal, stable.
Unchallenged, unmotivated, misunderstood, undisputed. unquestioned. Content, bored.
But then I am colour. You're are black and white. Everyone said it, but I never listened and I longed everyday to show you how to paint, but here you are painting exquisitely in black and white.
I listen to the voice and know you may never listen to yours.
You may never feel the need to be challenged, you may never feel the need to lose balance for love.
You may die, get fat, have children, and get married, unchallenged, unloved, dispassionate.
And you will be happy. Because you are tired of being out of control.
But I am tired too Dilan, I am tired of waiting for you to see me. Waiting for you to be truthful. Waiting for you to turn your disgust into understanding. Tired of waiting for you to let me grow up, just see that I've grown up.
Tired of waiting for you to throw it all away for one chance at chaos.
Because its me. And I don't have to tell you who I am. The pain in your heart that you only feel at night when she is not next to you, that's me, and in a few months from now, it will be gone.
I'm gone. I'm tired. I hurt and I'm angry at myself.
But I am me, I am powerful, I am truthful, I am loving, I am sensual. I am beautiful. I am insane. I'm indomitable. I am not disgusting. I am tired.
Of waiting for you to see me.
And I'll find strength in pain.
And I will change my ways.
I'll know my name as it's called again.
-Mumford & Sons.
posted by pINKhIGHhEELS @ 2:06 AM
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