 Fifteen, Australian. Photography, good music, good friends, good memories. Long phone calls. Amor Vincit Omnia, ♥. |
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This Curse That I Call Love.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Love. It's a funny little thing, isn't it? It twists and it turns; it spirals and it tumbles; it climbs and it falls; it grows, and it bursts. And sometimes, it makes people. And sometimes, it breaks people.You're the metaphors I can't create to comprehend this curse that I call love.
Those are all simple half-definitions. Comparisons. Metaphors. Figures of speech. Similies. They aren't real like emotions are. Not in the same way, at the very least. We can't feel words, not in the same way we feel happy or sad or angry or calm, or like we feel love. We don't see words in the same way we see feelings.
Not in the same way. I seem to keep repeating that one. Not in the same way. It's true, though. Nothing ever really is "in the same way". Because absolutely everything, is subjective. They say that some things have clear meanings. Obvious, clear meanings. Only not really. Anything, everything, all things are misconstrued. By somebody, everybody, any body. But there's always hoping to be someone who gets confused, or takes it the wrong way. Because everybody has different morals, different beliefs, is part of a different culture or goes through different states of mind.
The way I see it: that's all love sometimes is. Subjective. Subject to your own beliefs or your own morals or your culture. It your state of mind at any certain time. And that's what I hate the most. The way things just happen. Because, at that time? It was what you wanted. And at that time, it seemed right. And you didn't think you would regret it. But you do, and you can't take it back and you wish it never happened. But there's nothing you can do about it.
Alas, thats just the way things are. Not the same. Never the same as they were. Never the way they will be. And things will never be how they are again. Savour this. Every single moment of hurt and happiness. Remember it.
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
But what do you do when that love is what picks you up and takes you flying on top of the Earth, where everything is beautiful; but it's also what drags you down, crashing, to where it hurts and it kills and it stings?
This Curse That I Call Love.
In A Lonely Place.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Girl, I can't be the boy who fixes your broken heart.I don't want you to treat me like this now.
This time last year, I wanted you to be like this with me. I wanted you to be mine. I loved you. Neither of us did anything about it; you lost your chance.
You can't talk to me like that now, you can't treat me like this now. It's not fair on me. Because I don't love you like that any more. You're just my friend now, and I make that far more than clear, you know? You can't blur the lines.
And in all honesty, I never loved you the same way I love her. I never needed you like I need her. It was there, sure; but it was never as acute. I never really wanted you.
So stop treating me like I'm yours; like I ever was truly yours; like you have any claim on me at all.
Because I'm hers.
I want your smile to never fade away.
I'm tired of making an effort with you. But as many times as I say that, I won't stop. Because I always wanted to be your friend. Your best friend. I had that for a while, and I was happy. I hate how things are now, but I'm starting to hate you more. Never have I met someone so two-faced as you. We're all growing tired of your little game; we're tired of hearing about "them" - I'm sure you don't tell them about us, do you? Are they even there for you to tell? I find it hard to believe.
She blew a kiss that somehow missed, and I ended up all alone. Once again.
I'm tired of seeing everyone care about just you. You say jump, and each of those friends I introduced you to asks how high. It hurts that I was the one who introduced you to those people. You know, the ones who care about you so much now? They were mine. But they never cared about me, they way they care about you. They never thought I was amazing, like they think you are. I'm sure they've forgotten me now, anyway. Some of them have, at least. I'm not important to them. I'd be surprised if I ever was. It's so unfair. Can't I just have someone for myself for once? Just a friend. Someone who cares more about me, than you. I know it's selfish. But can't I have what I want, ever?
The only thing I wanted to tell you is, "I feel perfectly fine. I just need some peace and quiet for a while." Have you ever been so tired?
I feel like I'm on auto-pilot, going around in circles. Life, as fleeting as it apparently is, is so monotonous. Sleep, school, computer. Maybe a little texting in between. Sleep, school, computer. Throw in a few fake smiles and laughs. Sleep, school, computer. And there you have it: my life in a nutshell. It's awfully uninteresting. I want something special, something exciting to look forward to. I want to go places and make new friends and make plans spontaneously. Just like I used to. Alas, I'm not who I used to be.
And if waking up alone in a car is about as good as it gets, I know I did my best: I know I did my best to be yours.
It's never hurt so much to be away from her. I've never needed to have her around just to prove to myself that she loves me. Then again, it's never been like this before. I hate knowing what I know now, but I hate even more that I was never told. I hate the next day. I hate how much this hurts.
Most of all, I hate how this makes me feel like I'm not good enough; like I don't make her happy.
And if we stay out here all night, I'm sure we'll freeze. But I honestly wish you wouldn't leave.
I wish talking about things would make them better, just like it used to.
Not worse. I'm sick of worse. Worse hurts. But it's all I get now.
I can do it, right? I got this. Just like always.
And I'm definitely considering dreams are
worth giving up, when everything seems
way too much.
worth giving up, when everything seems
way too much.