How can I be his world, when he can't make my heart melt?
Is that a prerequisite for true love? That warm, tingly, numbing feeling in your heart? If it is, I'm very much not in love.
I'm lost, confused, scared...
Do I have feelings for someone else or is the grass just greener? How will I ever know?
Why is life and living so synonymous with love to the world? There's more to life than love, but why can't I live it?
I thought I was ready for the life he's pushing on me, but I see more each day that I'm far from ready and I may never be ready. Why put your heart into something with a 50% failure rate. If it were money I was investing, would I do it?? Nope, definitely not taking the 50/50 chance, so why with my heart and my life?
This writing is as confused as my head and my heart... shifty, scattered...
I know no one has the answers. I know I am the only one that knows what is in my heart.
I can't stand the idea of breaking his heart, but how ridiculous am I to just hold on because I'm afraid to hurt him. Yes, it's going to hurt me too, badly. Over a year and a half... he's the closest to me, he's my comfort when I'm sad or hurt, my punching bag when I'm angry. But it just doesn't feel right. I wish I could hate him. Loving someone makes it so much harder to tell them the truth. The simple sentence... I'm not in love with you anymore. It breaks my heart to say it, so I can only imagine what it will do to him.
I hate this feeling. Nothing is worse. I'd rather not wake up tomorrow then go through this. Fuck love.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Lately time has been passing so slowly, yet I feel my age every day. I can feel myself sinking into the day by day monotony that I've worked so hard to avoid. I read too much. I read stories of fantastic love that lasts forever; I read murder mysteries; I read fantasy novels of vampires; I read historic fiction and how-to books. I read to escape. I am screaming inside for a bit of cultural stimulation. Yet nothing comes to hand. Little things. Little seconds of joy have become the definition of life for me. I live for the weekend or day I can spend with some good friends. I love the way your hand feels in mine when I hold it. I love sleeping next to you... I've missed it for four years. Riding on the subway back from a bar. I'm a bit buzzed and I'm sitting down next to a couple who are, of all things, reading. I try to catch pieces of sentences but I don't want to be found out so mostly I stare at the floor. You are standing above me talking to a friend and holding my hand at the same time. I feel everything in this little memory I've stored. The sway of the subway. The hard plastic seat with the awful carpet-like covering. The smell of too many people in too small a space. I feel so connected to everything in that moment, simply because I'm connected to you. And I feel safe. This breaks the monotony. A simple connection to someone or something. And I find that I crave and need it. To connect. It's strange and ironic that I can't be myself until I'm connected to something else. I've even taken up knitting because I need something to do with my hands and it wastes time during the days I'm not working. In a strange way I feel connected to the string because my hands are shaping the scarf or sock it will become. I hope someday I won't need any connection to survive. But for now it's all I have.