I hate it when I am trying to write about
things such as life, career, parents, friends, freedom, life and death…
But my entire mind agrees to talk about you.
I keep trying to rewrite what I have, remake
what I am. And all I manage to think is how you are so content with happened to
us, that you sleep just as perfectly fine as any other person. A person who
isn’t in love, and why? Because you say that there is no time and space left
for real love. So what am I supposed to do then? Cry?
I sure as hell have cried too much. Way too
much, and I keep missing you. Not on big occasions, well yes on them too…but on
little things. Like your favorite coffee…like your favorite place to eat and
how you like to eat. Your disgust on things…and it makes me utterly allergic to
that specific thing at once with no reason other than you, you alone. Every
time I try and focus on things, you’re the one who sneaks inside my brain and
corrupts it. Suddenly I want your hands wrapped around my waist. And your lips
near my ears telling me to slow down. Because there is a coldplay song on the
radio in your car; and you want us to be in that song.
Together
It really is; a shame for us to part.
Am I supposed to forget you? Like you forgot
me?
I was your psycho. And you were my therapist. I
fell in love with you. And you tore yourself away from me. You should, come
back and haunt me. Even for one more time.
Just once
I want to show you how I have learned to smoke
so secretly. I want to tell you how many drugs I have tried. I want you to see
my eyes. Darkened with sleeplessness and I want to prove to you that I am not a
drag.
No.
I am doing something with my life.
I am trying. I am fighting.
Not just to survive, but to live.
I am brave.
I am living without you.
It’s a hard thing to do, but I am trying to.
One day, I’ll see you. You’ll be right in front
of me. And I would be able to reach out and kiss you.
I am waiting for that day. I am still
hoping…Which means I am alive.
To Play A Broken Record, Psychaotic
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