I’m indulging in a bit of everything at the moment. I’ve got my fingers sticky in the sugary sweets of many different candy bags. I’m even licking my fingertips after each plunge and pulling the salt and sweet together from my skin. Don’t you wish you could be free like me? Doesn’t it look fun?
She didn’t want my words, but she noticed them.
They weren’t remembered for their content, but for their volume.
And now, when she says they were too much I wonder if it’s because they were taken away and she missed them.
It’s always easier to be angry than sad.
Tears are always heavier than words.
There are times we must say goodnight to things that once made us happy but have lost the ability to do so. We often don’t want to, but moving on is the only way to keep the pleasant memories as they are.
If we linger they spoil.
Sometimes a smile is all we have left.
The sky isn’t blue and neither are you.
You’re a scattered reflection.
A person you thought I wanted you to be,
stretched to a person you aren’t,
to get closer to me.
The sun isn’t yellow, it’s as white as your lies.
Small lies that don’t mean much to anyone,
aside from the person you’re lying to.
I don’t like cigarettes, but seeing one dangle from your lips gives me a charge. You’re so casual too, pinching it between your fingers and dragging in the poison. You filter out the really bad stuff and let the rest blow like a whistle from your lips.
Such a cool girl with your sunglasses on.
I’m struggling. I’m struggling because its you and I can’t make the two sides of my mind meet in the middle and agree. You’re not even really gone, you’re just not here.
And if I looked for you would it matter?
Is this a line in the sand? I’m not sure I want to cross.
I’m writing you a memory. So far the bad out numbers the good, but I’m trying to remedy that. It took a little bit of work coming up with something to tip the scales slightly the other way. I don’t know if that’s a bad omen.
Maybe you being only a memory is bad enough.
I want to tear open the sky with my hands. I’ll spill the rain from above to watch you through its curtain. I’ll weigh you down with wetness and I’ll soak your skin.
Close your eyes so you can feel it. Open your mouth so you can taste it.
You’re only happy when it rains.
Cheap thrills hold a special place in my heart. Too many people toss them off as disposable feelings you have to peel off as if they were a spent rubber glove. Anything that can put that look on your face when you look at me can be called whatever it wants, just don’t look away.
A Hopeless Romantic, Stirred 