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I'm still not over you. It doesn't hurt any more, but I'm not over you. I long to see you. I make up scenarios in my head of how we'd randomly see each other one day. For some reason either I'm there or you're here, and we see each other and I jump into your arms and give you this huge hug. I know it probably won't happen, but it's nice to think about. I miss you a lot. I really miss talking to you. I've not met a person yet, that can capture me in a conversation like you. I recently got out of a relationship, and now that it's over between me and him, I'm realizing that a big reason why I dated him was because he reminded me so much of you, and a big reason why it didn't work out was because he wasn't. I just miss you so much. I think that's why I'm writing this. I'm allowing myself to admit how much I miss you. I want to talk to you again. I want to be able to pick up my phone and call you so that I can see how you are doing. I guess I'm afraid. Afraid that you don't want me even as a friend any more. That does scare me because you were once one of my best friends, and I would hate to lose you.
You have captivated me. Taken control of my senses. up and down our relationship goes. days go by where i want you forever and you simply run away. i wonder what will happen to this. perhaps i will lie down or fly away. lost and delirious is what i am. you go on naive to my questions blind to my pines. over these clouds i sit, counting the hours and the minutes. one day we will know how this story end.
when I was young and impressionable and the world was big and you were impossibly far away, I thought I loved you. you fascinated me, you were so different to everything I had known and experienced up to that point, and I(like many of us, I later found) was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.
you inspired me to create, to stand out if only for your attention, to think about why I did everything I did. you changed me, completely. when the story of my life was dreariness and nothing could get me out of bed, the thought of you kept me going.
I grew up, and gradually I came to see the differences between love and infatuation and inspiration. you drew away and I fought it, at first; I didn't understand. it hurt me, you hurt me, but it was hurt that let me grow.
but still you inspire me. still you fascinate me. I don't love you, I doubt you ever loved me anyway, but I still want to be witness to the story of you. not as a lover, not as an enemy, nor an anonymous acquaintance, but as a friend. I wish you would let me back in.
Eddying through my life like fog. Showing up at the most intense times of my life, offering temptation and instant gratification, offering things that will turn to dust as soon as the sunlight of reason hits them. Resting your eyes on me, so casually showing me the windows that lead to your soul, your hopes, your dreams, your fears. You don't wear your heart on a sleeve, you print it on a banner that you calmly, with no hint of anything other than self assurance, display with a complete fuck you attude. I loathe you, and I want you so bad. And I can't have you.
You. Shut the hell up. Stop whining. Stop running. Stop ducking the mirror when you walk past. You're beautiful, goddamn it. Stop fucking hurting yourself. Quit this self destructive shit. Start writing again. Forgive her. Forgive them all. Quit being such a fucking pussy. Stop giving up before you try. Stop the constant negative self talk. Stop running. Here is there is everywhere. Location change won't change a thing. Besides. It's in your head. Stay put and fucking work on yourself. Quit snorting fucking Vicodin and Percocet for two minutes. Percoslut. Stop whining! Stop regretting everything ever. Quit finding reasons to be unhappy. Quit cherishing your pain and dragging it around with you. Stop thinking there's no possible way you can be an adult. It's the other way around. You are one, and there's no way around it. Stop lurking and hiding and hurting and pining. Stop wanting to do things. If you can, do so. If you can't, move on. No one is going to fix you. Wash your fucking hair more! Yes, you're tired. Strung out and addicted. An addict. Physically pre-disposed to run on alcohol and melancholy. Eternally nervous. Insanely afraid. Shy as all hell. Liar. Fabulist. Lying to yourself. Just cut it the fuck out, okay? And look me in the eye when you look in the mirror.
I really wish you were here right now... I was working today and we were listening to Pink Floyd on the radio.... right as a thought of you blinked through my brain, "Wish You Were Here" blinked onto the radio. I was thinking that I do wish you were here. I wish you were here with me now to reassure me that I made the right decision and to hold my hand and brush my hair back with your fingers until I fall asleep in your lap. I feel as though I always cry around you since that first time...
Maybe it's best that you're not here though. I think it's time for me to grow up and move one... but I don't want to move away from you. You're one of my best friends and I love you dearly. I have so many things I want to say to you, but they're all so sentimental and girly that I hate to even acknowledge that I think of them.
You are all that I am not, the fundamental difference between you and me is that I am not you. We are two separately existing entities of a potential link. You could be a boy, you could be a girl, you could be gay, les, bi, etc or you could be someone else. You may be you but you are not you, you will never be you until you are comfortable with yourself. But you will never be me, don't model yourself after me. Thanks
i address the subjects of my poetry in second person singular sometimes. not to be pretentious or unique or heavy handed, but maybe because i just wish someone someday reading will feel a twinge of empathy, and of passion for the anonymous author. that is the you i am writing to, despite the best intentions of my titles.
You, OKL. I love you. I've never experienced love like this. It's stable, and cozy, and stress free. There's no butterflies in the stomach, no crazy schoolgirl bullcrap. And I like it this way. You're sensitive, and selfless, and optimistic to a fault. That's not a flaw I'm going to hold against you, though. We take the simple act of lovemaking and turn it into a ritual of worship.
You, NMS. You were my first adult relationship. I don't know why we orbited each other for so long. Our relationship started out so fufilling, so promising, but it deflated in six months. That didn't keep us from snapping back to each other again and again, as if we were connected by a rubber band. We did that for two years. We excellently fooled ourselves into thinking that the other was exactly what we wanted and needed. Your ego was like a huge impenetrable balloon that kept us apart. My substance abuse and emotional immaturity made things constantly difficult. Our last ditch effort, renting an apartment together, only pushed us further apart, and made obvious our glaring differences, ones that couldn't be compromised on or changed.
You, BWF. You were gorgeous. I was so obsessed with you. School was torture. Staying home was torture. I burned for you from the second we parted until I held you again. Your eyes reflected hopeless winter blue skies, doomed even with the sun shining. You were the first person that made me realize how amazing love and intimacy with another person can be. You lied to me from the very beginning. You were the first person to ever break my heart. You used me. You tore my soul out, not from intentional cruelty, but because I had given it to you, connected myself to you. I was foolish. You left my heart and soul a wasteland, and the way I let it affect me shaped much of who I am today. Something terrible happened, and I never told you. I doubt I ever will. You were so beautiful.
You, CSH. I wish I had the courage to talk to you, to contact you. We had the same sense of humor. You talked more than I, so you didn't know that we were often thinking the same damn thing. You're crazy, and that made me want you so much more. I burned for you, and also knew that it was impossible for a million reasons.