i don't really know where i'm at, or where we're at.
just posting this to get it off my chest, and cause i told you i'd post it.
decided not to change it like i said i would. i think this is optimistic enough for the moment.
I'm posting it so i can always have it, I dont' trust this computer to save jack shit, i'm not making it private, cause i don't do that.
i figured myspace had too much traffic and would be too abrasive
A breakup is a messy fucking situation. No mater how “mutual” the break up is, everyone gets hurt. Without exception, the longer the relationship, the harder it is. After a week you have something you like about someone, the color of their hair, how they laugh at jokes and the color of their eyes. After two years you love to love and hate everything about the other person. How they clear their throat on the phone when they’re upset. How when they try to sleep on their back, they roll over, one arm across your shoulders, their warm breath blowing across the hairs on your neck, and you’re breathing slowly falls into sync. You grow accustomed to the words they use most often, you develop a sixth sense telling you to open your phone, because you know you’re about to get a text message or a phone call form this person. After a week of not seeing the person, you start getting cold at night when you sleep, even with blankets and blankets and layers of fleece, because no amount of fabric compares to the warmth you get from laying in the same bed as them, half awake, half asleep, listening to the mix of rain on the roof and music on the stereo. You get used to how they feel in your arms. You start missing how their hair smells. How their lips feel, their kisses taste. You miss how they play with the ring on your finger, the chain draped around your neck. You miss how when they think that no one is looking, or they don’t care if they do, they drive their hands into your pockets, holding you closer. You start to miss how they talk about music, the sounds they make when they eat food, and the way their eyes open when they’re excited. You begin to miss the stories you’ve heard a thousand times. You miss the friends you hated, you miss them and you hope they miss you half as much.
You start asking questions. No clichéd “why” or suspicious thoughts, but questions about the future. Will anyone else love the way they crack their knuckles, if they’ll ever run their fingers across someone else’s body, and stop suddenly, to investigate a cluster of freckles or a scar, the same way they found the freckles on your elbow and the scars on the back of your hands. You wonder if anyone else will ever say to you “You know, you have the most amazing purple rings around your beautiful green eyes.”
Then you’ll start to hope. You hope they miss you. You mope they realize they may have made the biggest mistake of their life. You hope they think about you when that certain song plays on the radio. You hope they keep your secrets. You hope you can keep theirs. You hope you’ll find someone else that fits perfectly against your body when you sleep as they did. You hop to god you find someone with perfect eyes and a perfect smile like theirs. You hope that they smile when they hear your name, even if it’s just someone who shares the name. You hope that one day you’ll be able to do the same. You even hope that in a year or two, you’ll run into each other and you’ll smile, say hello. Maybe you’ll leave with our new love, leave knowing they’re happy and you’re happy, maybe they’ll leave with their new love, and you’ll see not only is it time to move on, but it’s ok too. Maybe you’ll leave together. Maybe you’ll get that second, or third, or seventh, or twelfth or thirty-second chance you needed. Maybe you’ll find happily ever after with them, maybe without them, but you’ll find it. And you’ll have the memories, and the jokes. The way they smiled, the first time you said those words, the ones you already know.
p.s.
daddy said you gotta show the world the thunder.
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