13 март, 2015

the star-lover

Monday was the scariest day yet. Tomorrow will be worse. I know Mondays are scary as usual but mine aren't. I love fresh starts, they inspire me. This one felt like all hell broke loose on me. The damn panic has been creeping into my mind for days with the sleepless night and the nightmares and it finally found its way to the surface. It drowned me. But not all at once. It took its time and pleasure to torture me all night. And you know what?! As scary as it was, I enjoyed almost every second of that night. The panic filled me with adrenalin and it's such a rush that you can't not jump around, dance and sing. 
He was a big part of my surviving the night, but also all my friends that were there and my sister who held my hand when I wasn't able to catch my breath. It's hard to remember how the surviving happens sometimes but it does sooner or later. 
Then we danced and he didn't need to say it. And we are defined. I am his and he is mine for now. And it's fine that way. We both need the time apart to do our own things. But I'm going to miss him so much. The way he smiles when he thinks I'm not watching and the way he does when I am. There have been so many little moments of happiness that were spontaneous and epic that I sometimes want to be able to relive them over and over again until the time passes and he is back. Because surely things will be different when he does. I will be different. Better, I hope. And he will either be mine forever or he was never mine to begin with. Okay, so maybe I hate fresh starts and new beginnings. I love what is old and familiar. Sue me!
You said you'll never say it again. That you're only going to show it. And you have. You made me fall in love with you all over again without even trying to. I know exactly what you're thinking and why you're doing things the way you do. It's funny, you know. I know all the little details about you that would scare someone else, but I love every one of your ghosts, fears and flaws. Damn, I wish I could write poetry so I could tell you all that I feel in the best way possible. But I am a girl of many words, a writer. Oh well, who cares how you say or show it, as long as you do show it and mean it.

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