Archive for January 2013
Maybe these feelings are too strong to capture in words. Maybe a blank page would convey them better than an inked one. Maybe I should stop trying and just let you do you and me do me. Maybe that would lead to a simpler, easier life for the both of us. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe these tears bleed through my writing for a reason. Maybe if I were patient enough to let them dry, this paper in front of me wouldn’t be ugly, soaked, and full of holes in half-hearted attempts to rub them out. Maybe if I didn’t let them fall from my cheeks to begin with, they wouldn’t be there and this problem wouldn’t exist.
Maybe if I stared out this open window long enough, my mind would magically go blank and shit would make sense again. Maybe these thoughts consume me because I allow them to. Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I fear an empty conscience. Maybe that makes more sense to you, than me. Maybe I’m secretly hoping it does.
Maybe I won’t think about you today. Maybe I can make it through my mornings, my afternoons, my evenings, my nights, without letting my curiosity destroy my innocence. Maybe if I threw my head back and closed my eyes tight enough it would fade this obsession. Maybe this wishful thinking is what’s preventing me from accepting the reality of it all.
Maybe in the future, you will teach me lots of cool things, and I will learn them, get good at them, and re-teach you with a smile on my face. Maybe I’ll apologize for not ending this little attachment of ours before feelings took over, but between me and you, I have very few regrets.
Maybe love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. Maybe love is a natural hallucinogen and I am a fucking addict. Maybe we all are. Maybe love means that you accept a person with all their failures, stupidities, ugly points, and nonetheless, you see perfection in imperfection itself. Maybe when you truly love someone, age, distance, height, weight, and salary are just numbers. Maybe I am just crazy. Maybe I am o-fucking-kay with that.
Maybe I will never ever, in a million years, figure out why pain penetrates deeper internally than ex. Maybe this mystery was never ever, in a million years, meant to be figured out.
Maybe this music will numb me. Maybe if I turn the volume knob far enough to the right, it will drown out my bad intentions and leave my soul somewhat pure again. Maybe fuck pure. Maybe pure is the antagonist here; the backbone to false being, closed minds, and a society watered down with status and statistic. Maybe sometimes in this boring, scheduled life, this waiting-for-Friday-night life that we all lead, we just need the world to remind us that not everything is perfect. Maybe flaws are pretty, too. Maybe there’s some beauty in the breakdown. Maybe there are more people than I think who feel the same way as I do. Maybe you are one of them. Maybe I’m just losing my fucking mind.
Maybe Mister Anxiety won’t get the best of me today. Maybe if I cut the bad fruit off the tree, there would be no reason for me to be anxious. Maybe this fruit is sweet as a motherfucker though and I love the way it leaves my tongue longing for more. Maybe I feel more alive when my heart beats as fast as it does because of this. Maybe there is too much brain in my head. Maybe I like playing my cards wrong. Maybe I enjoy the chaos.
Maybe the best way to appreciate something is to be without it for awhile. Maybe this would allow for my past to make me a better person in my current state instead of a bitter one. Maybe nothing ever becomes real until it is experienced. Maybe I haven’t grasped this concept to the best of my abilities yet. Maybe soon, I might.
Maybe being strong just isn’t for me. Maybe I should embrace my sad side and let it take me wherever the fuck it chooses to take me. Maybe every bit of sadness in my life only serves to make the good bits sweeter. Maybe the problem contains the solution. Maybe I already know this, but refuse to swallow it.
Maybe I should calm down, take a deep breath, and relax. Maybe if I could, I would. Maybe fuck calm. Maybe I should punch today in the face. Maybe Mister Anxiety is denying me this oxygen as a form of cruel punishment and there’s no way to escape it so I shouldn’t try to. Maybe I don’t know me like I thought I did. Maybe I should put this cigarette out now, seeing as I don’t smoke and I can’t remember how it got between my lips in the first place.
Maybe if I put more mascara on tomorrow morning, the dark circles lingering below my eyes won’t be so noticeable. Maybe this quad stack of Tylenol on the table in front of me would kick in faster accompanied by a good tall glass of whiskey and Coke. Maybe I am stuck in memory lane because I love running into you. Maybe in order to regain traction I have to forget it all. Maybe I can’t bring myself to do that right now. Maybe I have to make myself not want you or else you’re all I think about. Maybe the word ‘maybe’ should be void in that last sentence.
Maybe I love losing myself in you, running my fingers through your hair, down your temple, kissing you everywhere until your smell lingers on me even after you’re gone. Maybe I take pleasure in indulging in you. Maybe locking your fingers, your legs, your lips, between mine when we fuck is worth every minute of the nostalgia of the replay. Maybe sometimes I wonder how different your replays are compared to mine.
Maybe you make me happier than you’ll ever know. Maybe I crave your youth, that spunk you carry yourself with, and maybe I enjoy dwelling in your energy because it brings out the best of mine. Maybe there was meaning behind the words we exchanged. Maybe sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places. Maybe I’m just a dreamer who should have more realistic hopes.
Maybe I’m making this worse by writing about it. Maybe this is the only way I know how to extract my emotion and cope with it. Maybe fuck you for loving me. Maybe fuck me for the same damn reason. Maybe you are my question. Maybe you are my answer. Maybe you are neither. Maybe all we need is time to figure out who we are, what this is, and where we want to go with it. Maybe we will never know.
Maybe you understand this more than I ever will.