02 август, 2015

littlest things

It turns out that I'm less crazy and more creative when I have things to do. No surprise there. Oh, it's August again - that time of the year when things happened in the past and I relive them as the days come as if they are happening right now. I used to love it, now it's another thing I need to live through and pretend not to care about. Until the lie becomes me, huh. 
I may give up, I may be so over it I can listen to the damn song over and over and watch pictures and do other stuff but I will never ever forgive her the hipocricy and the bitchy smile she pretended to be happy for you and me. I'm not sure why I'm talking to you in that moment, but I guess I miss doing that. I thought we'd be talking more often now that you're back but it's the other way around. And I feel weird calling after our last conversation in Sofia. Well, I miss us, you know. It's been good the past half year. I thought we could have that but I was never the choice. I was what you had left. 
I'm on an edge when it comes to you. I can make all the right choices but when it comes to you, I go all wrong and forget myself. I forget that I matter, that I want things because I made you into the thing I want most, maybe because I knew I could never have you the way I wanted you. 
In the mean time, I have plans, I have hope most of the time and I have the pieces of a future I'm yet to put together. I know I will eventually. I know also that you can ruin all of this for me by holding me yet again close enough to feel better and far enough to make me feel like the last possible choice. Knowing it won't change anything probably, because I usually leap into the hands of my mistakes but maybe this time I won't. Maybe the alarms that keep going off every damn time I'm out will start serving their purpose and warn me not to be so stupid and delusional as to think we have a future. I do, you do, but we can't have one - not like this. We only ever want the ones that don't want us. I don't want you. Want me! But I was never born to belong, was I? To anyone but myself and my writing. Then why can't I remember this when he's talking to me, dammit!?
August, please be good to me and don't smother me with the memories. I know them by heart anyway.
P.S. I got inspired by Lilly Allen - Littlest Things and Love, Rosie - best movie I've seen in a while.

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