13 септември, 2013

glass half empty

The cuteness of watching them read a page from a book taking turns until one of them falls asleep.
Can I please somehow become a part of the show? I mean... I am not going to steal Pacey away from Joey or anything. I just want to be there, following them around in a really stalkish but completely harmless way and write down every single word they say. And since I am never going to make someone read that way with me, I might as well pretend in my mind that I already did and enjoy my own imaginary perfection.
I honestly believe I am way better at dreaming what I want things to be than actually living them. Nothing ever goes wrong in a dream. It's not that way when there are other people involved. Sometimes it's for the better, and in my case - for the worst. So I think it's about time I got a cat and get it over with. I will share my food with it, I will cuddle with it all day long, I will protect it and care for it and it will never blame me for it. It will love me back with its cute little paws and will bite my hand in a cute ticklish way. And I guess I will write while it takes all my problems away.
The funny thing is I keep searching for songs to sing at the stupid karaoke after the concert, as if anyone would want me to be there, as if my support would suddenly be needed and appreciated. I keep... Writing stupid confessions, as if anyone would read them and understand. I guess I don't want to fix things this time. I want them to fix themselves for me. Because to fix means to give something from yourself, to throw the white flag and admit that you are wrong and stupid and what not. I've done so. I've ignored the alarms and the stop signs down the road because I believed that doing so fixes me. And it ends up the thing that breaks me just a little more everyday.
But I am stupid enough to shut the alarms up and find a reason to keep going, because things will get better. They must get better eventually. And most of the time they do, until they get worse again. Then there goes another sleepless night, another writing therapy and another set of alarms warning me not to go down that read again. Sometimes I wish I listened and sometimes I wonder how can there even be an alarm in the first place.
I guess I just wonder if my presence really matters all that much. I just... Need to know that I am needed, loved, missed...

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