Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Timeline

I never dreamed of you. You can't dream of a dream, can you? I wanna know what book everyone disliked but you. I will only really figure you out when I know what song everybody seems to pass unnoticed, but you think is absolutely brilliant. You're bleak. You're those lyrics I never actually understood yet I totally understand their purpose. I want you to watch sitcoms with me and feel free to not laugh out loud purposely. I go through your photos all the time. I like the fact that photos don't show if you have a throbbing migraine or maybe if the sandal cut through your foot skin, but it's not helping. Sometimes my imagination is so vivid I can feel water splashes on my face from your canoeing paddle as it hit the water but your face is a hole. It's a scribble. I tried to draw you before, you know, but you're not a painting, you're a chaotic dramatic artistic collage. I'm not myself around you. You're not yourself around yourself. "You don't know how lovely you are", you sing along and I have to remind myself you're not singing for me. I liked you, waited for you, got stood up by you, all in my head. Now I am angry at you but I can't keep that in my head, it is real. I'm gonna cry weeks from now because you were totally singing for me. You're so unromantic that there's something romantic about everything you do. I'm always caught up between thinking I deserve much better and I am not good enough for you at the same time. I fall in love fast. Good sense of humor. Heartfelt piece of writing. Thoughtful gesture. I fall out of love even faster. One word. Keep me from stretching my thoughts so far. Bear your fucking soul to me and I'll re-read my favorite book, underline my favorite parts, leave a dried lily between the pages and put it over your one-way train ticket. I'll even go ice skating with you so we can fall side by side while skaters revolve around us. I cut myself on your broken pieces and you didn't even wipe your mess. I'm sorry, I'll have to chainsaw the tree down just under our carved heart enclosing our initials. I hate you. I hate you in a very flattering way.

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