I still cry when your voice is raised. I bawl my eyes out if not on the insides, each time I fail to get my point across to make you understand and when you talk about me- oh, when you talk about me, my heart breaks if not shatters almost each time. I wonder if you ever flip to the page of your book with all the notes I have written and look back at it. If you have ever really remembered me for who I am or what I ever was. I imagine your face, your reaction, how before you know it you wished you never had or did. Maybe it hurts you a bit too much you would rather not think about it-
I can never say much without giving it all. I still hold on to this where it's safe and sound. I know it's just me now. I really do. Somedays I just wonder how it would be like if you were ever more gentle with me.
At some point it sounded to me as if I was never real. I'm non existent although I figured he must have believed me enough to see. I suppose I was wrong. Isn't this all that I have ever dreamed of, to be proven right over all that I am wrong at? It was like a show, I'm dramatic hoorah! It doesn't sound any different, I got the message the first time. Funny I waited still, just in case.
I was never obliged to fight for anything or anyone whose space was not meant for them as I am not right to them. Each time I just fail to make anyone comprehend. I tell them they don't understand, I know they try- they tell me I never listen. Does anyone ever really listen? Tell me I never did the same. Tell me it was not just as tiring for me to keep it all together when it was just as excruciating as I might not have made it seem.
It burns as it aches, I feel it in my chest, I am speechless over the things I cannot explain and the mind or decision made up so strong and firmly, a tsunami would not be able to change it. Even if a volcano erupted and the fact that I cannot swim doesn't make it any better. I'm only human but playing god is what you see. It's not up to me to change how anybody wishes to perceive me.
I feel an embrace so cold and lonely, it is warm to me. My head is insane, I see colours, smell goodbyes, feel for what has yet to happen when it most probably will though you do not need to believe me. I am the voice you shut out knowing I am not what you have ever dreamed of hearing. I am a siren, a bunch of lies tied together in a bouquet, every dream turned nightmare. It's amazing, too outstanding, I am art, I'm a masterpiece, I am-
a bit out of my mind if you would rather think so. I am every single thing you say about me and believe I am to be. I am just a figment of ones imagination, remember? I am what you make of me. So where I no longer am, I never was. Always where I should be, there whenI'm needed; it's time to let it go.
Almost everyone I know tells me to fuck it.
They say fuck you. I tell them, okay.
I cannot change how one would perceive things. I stayed when I had every reason not to. I suppose that in the end, the longer something is with me, the more prone it is to destruction. I can never save you and you will all eventually drown me. I'm fine, don't get me wrong. Sometimes I feel as if I will always love him more yet he could never really love me. It's funny how I let myself go through these. I know it is. I've heard people laugh about it before. I think I'm tired, of standing up for what prefers sitting down. I might just be done. He can go do whatever he wants.