I'm not the one holding you hostage,
Squeezed in between my lips.
Maybe you don’t think so but this is just about the worst situation I’ve gotten myself into lately. All those other incidents probably hurt all those other people. But this will hurt me. And I sort of forgot that that could happen, you know? And suddenly I feel so inadequate. I’m a joke. I’m not good-looking. Or, if I am, only in the kind of way where I get kissed and the end. I’m not beautiful in the way that I would like to be. In a breathtaking way. And I don’t mean that I’d change specific things about me. Maybe I’d just change how people perceive me.
I’m too loud and loutish. And you were laughing at me, rather than with me, like I was there and talking just to entertain you. And I keep feeling like that. Like I’m just filling a space. There’s no depth or meaning. No, there is. I just can’t show it properly. I always seem so phenomenally ditzy. Maybe I actually am that person though. Maybe my brain hasn’t caught up yet and it hasn’t realised that the person I am is actually the actual me. And that gap just kills me.
Maybe I could have some perfect thing. Maybe. If I didn’t think so much and mentally criticise me and you and everything. But I don’t know. Reading Twilight and witnessing people who are in love is beautiful. But I can’t help feeling slightly jealous. And I always always always want what I can’t have. Always. Having said that, if a particular person showed up on my doorstep right now, I’d still want him. I do want you. And you have this joking way of suggesting that you feel the same. But of course it’s just a joke.
I assume this chart is referring to potential boys. Ya know what’s funny? I’d never ever pick ‘emotionally stable’. Ever. It’s much too boring. It is right though, you definitely can’t have all three. Most of the boys I’ve had anything to do with have not been emotionally stable. And while it makes for adventurous late night conversations and the thrill of sneaking out of the house and that, things don’t normally work out. Ends badly. Usually in tears. Actually, always in tears. And some form of wandering around in the middle of the night having spiteful arguments. And the word ‘love’ is tossed around so casually. By me especially. I ought to avoid emotionally unstable boys. I ought to. But I won’t, will I? There’s something horribly endearing about being fucked up.
I want to fall in love, please.