I question things. I question everything. Its just who i am, i need to figure things out. i have an insatible need to know. If i were honest its just my way of protecting myself. If i can figure something/someone out before they figure me out I can protect myself or if need be defend myself. But it never scares me, I’ve never afraid of not knowing, because it will come about eventually. But with you, its scary because I’m just not sure of whats next and that means it could go anyway, good or bad. its a risky situation. I just want things to work out.
Out on the balcony. Out from the party. Thats where you’ll find me. Out on the Balcony, chatting up the girls who’d rather smoke than talk. Out there in the frigid winter air, the warm summer nights, and the damp spring evenings, out there is where you’ll find me. talking to the girls whose sadness lies just beneath what everyone sees. Just beyond what everyone believes to be true. This is when they’re open. When they’re smoking out on the balcony with a stranger to breathe with. they stare outward, looking at nothing, intently searching for something. Out on the balcony.
The past is so much softer. Like a dream you’re just beginning to forget. A world made of clouds and softness. Its so much easier to live when you know what good parts to live to fullest and the worse ones to change. The past was so much better because you weren’t thinking about yesterday.
People always talk about the nics and scratches they get from relationships. The emtional scars the have from them. I don’t think its scars that people leave us with, but bricks and mortar. They leave walls so other can’t get to us.
I’ll be the one that collects things
you be the one that does things.
I’ll be the one that remembers everything
and you can be the one that forgets it all.
I’ll stand in the distance thinking of you
while you try to place my face.
The memory of you will stop me in cold daylight
And you’ll greet me with such cheer
then forget me just as easily.
Death came to me once. she was dressed in black with eyes as wide as the moon, milky black pools that covered most of her face.
Death came to me once and said “you’re not good enough”.
So I live on.
And I held her close as I carried her in my arms, and whispered one last thing before it all ended.
“I love you” I said.
she said “I love you too.”
Even then I didn’t believe it. Even then I heard the dishonestly in her voice. I wanted to say more, tell her I knew she didn’t, but it was a nice thought, that in the moment I needed to believe. So I held her close one last time.
Then I woke up.