I honestly didn’t think itd come to this. What could I have done? what could I have possibly done? You can’t even give me the courtesy of telling me why, of just saying “look, im sorry, but its over.” you can’t even do that. I let myself believe that if I just gave it a chance, just tried to talk to you one more time, you’d be mature about it. I’ve spent the past 3 fucking months blaming myself for everything, thinking that if I wasn’t such a dick, i’d still have you in my life. but i realize now i was wrong, you’re just an immature little girl, with nothing better to do than throw peoples lives away, fucking up your own in the process. I loved you, i really did. i’m sorry you can’t grow up. i’m sorry you lost everything, but really, who else to blame but yourself? I haven’t been this close to crying since i was a kid. i don’t want to let go, but i have to. i dunno what else to do. i don’t know what else to say.
to have a podcast. like, where I can play music and shit. like an internet radio station or something. if anyone can help me out with that, that’d be cool.
oh, and I’m not paying money for shit.
need to stop drinking. when it gets to the point where i rush to the garage fridge when my mom goes to walk the dog, i think i have a problem.
the royal tenenbaums last night
great fucking movie.
I’m putting this dream on mute until I can erase these early few months;
I’m trying to get past the words, the stories, and a self-incriminating sense of relief
This sums it up in 20 words or less, our past relations were buried alive in the layers
I was dressed in last year, January;
It was cold and the picture is fogged up with your breath
You look like you’re faking the grimace towards twisting flakes
But no complaints thus far because I’m running out of steam,
And it’s taking more the just words to get me going in the early hours of the day
Your flask of Dramamine is swishing around in your coat pocket,
Just one of the few stimuli my senses have yet to react to
But I’ve given my shirt to a homeless man on Elmwood
And I’ve yet to see karma play out
Refining my views, I reference the paper I keep in my bedside stand drawer;
“We come in threes, and our purpose is naught but to blow the air on which you step”
Another place, another story; you left your bookmark on my pillow
Without acknowledging the repercussions of the company you keep
matter to you that i’ve been this close to calling you a total of 7 times. it won’t matter to you that i’ve lost more sleep because of you then I ever have because of drugs, school, suspension. all of that didn’t matter because you were this pillar; you were an invincible ideal in my frail conscious. I can only type out so many words until my knuckles collapse in on themselves. I’d go to my room and watch my fan spin for an hour, comparing it to this past year, thinking about how me, you, and the other hung onto those fan blades for dear life; you shifting between me and him indefinitely. Or maybe I was imagining all the late night texts, the hand holding, the clandestine movie theater meetings. Maybe that life was false, maybe I was over your shit and your lies the day I met you, almost two years ago. Such an innocent first meeting; you were my first kiss later that summer, the first girl I honestly thought I was in love with. And you threw it away for some scrawny fuck that cheated on you, and got back at him for that by doing the same thing with me, apparently. But I didn’t want to let go, I didn’t want to forget your face and your laugh, when I left this country for a month. But you insured that I would, to an extent. However, I didn’t forget about how bad I just wanted to see you, one last time. So we went to darien lake, and both of us smoked too much, I drank too much. You started that, the drinking. I can blame that shit, the AA meetings, on myself, on my grades or my parents, all I want. The truth is, I wouldn’t have stolen a flask of Smirnoff every other day if it weren’t for you. But since that excursion to darien, you haven’t said a word to me. I’ve tried; really, I just want closure. “closure.” I want the door closed and then broken in on its hinges; I want you to be a part of my life again, I don’t care what my friends say. You’re not a whore, you’re not a fucking burn-out. You mean more to me then the breath I draw in.
I just wanted you to know.
supcindy:
You’ve changed immensely. About a year and a half ago, you were a 15 year old virgin who had never even been fingered. You and I go way way back, you were my best friend. We have so many memories with eachother, and I will never forget them.
A little over a year ago, you and Kevin got together. And I felt us drifting. I didn’t think anything of it, I just thought of it as something that would be a rollercoaster drifting pattern, where one week we would not talk, and the next week we’d see eachother every day. I was so so wrong. You gave everything you had to Kevin, including the majority of your firsts. Kevin and I started having our differences, and of course you chose his side, I didn’t expect anything else from you.
But then I didn’t talk to you for months. 6 months at least. And then I texted you randomly one day, and we got together.
I miss you so much.
ik who you’re talking about…
and I know exactly how you feel
to judge someone based on whatever outside opinions you have of that person; fucking talk to them first, yea?
