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A toast to you
A toast to me
A toast to the dreams that we can achieve

A toast to stars
A toast to skies
A toast to the moon still bright in our eyes

A toast to the distance
A toast to the calls
A toast to our laughter running down halls

A toast to tequila
A toast to shots
A toast to the nights we together forgot

A toast to libraries
A toast to the nooks
A toast to us hiding deep in the books

A toast to goodnight
A toast to warming
A toast to kisses and tickles all morning
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for accidentally lying when I said I wanted to be with you.

I think perhaps I fall in love often – I fall hard and fast, without remorse or concern.

I think perhaps I fall out of love often – I grow tired and bored, unexcited and suppressed.

Unfortunately I fall in love before others and I fall out of love before others. I leap into the arms of people who aren’t ready to commit, then walk away just when they are ready to endure.

I hurt people. A lot.

I’m not sure when it started, but its still going on. I can think back on 3, 4, 6 people in the last few years that I have broken it off with after I promised them love. I left without warning, without hesitation. I feel bad about it because I don’t want to hurt people, I don’t want to cause pain, but I feel that letting things fester while I am unhappy in a relationship is worse.

It still hurts. I still watch tears fall. I am still avoided when passing on the sidewalk. I am still badmouthed in fraternity bathrooms and in social media. I watch my best friend and lover become someone who hates me, who wants to cause me pain, who then spreads my secrets and laughs at my failures.

I don’t want to hurt people anymore, so perhaps it is best that I do not date. Perhaps it is best if I never commit or kiss anyone without the careless and superficial setting of a night club dance floor. Perhaps I need to mature and wait until I can find peace and stability, where I won’t switch between adoration and frustration so quickly and suddenly.

My friend might have been right when she said “I don’t think you can be in a relationship right now.”

Maybe I can’t be. Even if I can, maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should just accept that I need to wait for life to take its course and should stop trying to capture every shining opportunity that I happen to meet in the library, the pool, a coffee shop, or the gym.

Maybe I should let those opportunities go past and should wait for the ones that come when I am older. Perhaps I should wait for the golden opportunities I pass in the grocery store, at work, in line for the DMV.

Is my maturity the issue? Am I subconsciously not ready to commit myself to someone? Do I have some twisted sadistic sense of humor in which I like tricking people into thinking I love them?

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for accidentally lying when I said I wanted to be with you. I’m sorry for when I made up some ******* excuse about why it wasn’t going to work when the reality is that I was bored and restless.

To you – M, B, L, M, A, and R.  I’m sorry that I am a *******. I’m sorry that the devil has blue eyes.

You are better off without me than you ever would have been with me.
I am in love with chance and all her open promises, inherent risks, and bountiful rewards. I am in love with the idea of gambling myself into existence and riding the dice on a whim. Certainty bores and scares me, permanence poisons my happy mindset. I need risks and dangers and dumb ideas, it is in these that I find the fruit of life.

I am in love with chance. She calls my name often, beckoning me to spend the night. She seduces me with ***** talk and a proven mind, flooding my heart with her drug. I long to fall into her, with her, to kiss her mouth and taste the poison of an uncertain life. I crave her in the night when there is naught but doubt in my mind.

I am in love with chance and the chaos she brings. She is a storm that tosses my little boat on waves that could equally take me to paradise or a watery grave. She is fairness and equality, for chaos is truly fair, it rids me of order and structure. Her screaming pleasure enraptures me with a sodden wealth and unhealthy appetite for potential glories.

I am in love with chance. She is my mistress, my plaything, the dark shadow that leaves my bed before the morning light. She is the elusive lover to whom my young heart belongs, the fiery being to which my trust is pledged. Chance has yet to let me down – perhaps that is why I love her. I am never disappointed in chance for she is, above all, fair and just. There is not evil or malice in she, there is no hidden agenda or destructive intent.

I am in love with chance.
I am in love with chance.
I am in love with chance and her barren wealth.
I am in love with chance and the way she feeds my zealous lust for life.
I am in love with chance and she loves me.
I am in love with chance and I must choose…

I must choose between her love and your certain certainty.
Her love is opportunity
I wander nightly and ponder your name, questioning your very existence. I seek the truth and to find nirvana – I need something that will listen.

Curiosity finds a deep morose and excitement runs into doubt, the wandering and pondering has me aching in and out.

My heart yearns to find the truth, but, since when has that really mattered? All my life I’ve ignored my heart with its desires and drives so strong and scattered.

How does a man choose a woman? How does a woman choose a man? What drives this ***** love of chance into something deeper, something planned?

Is there a plan to such romance, is it all just luck? Do we cast a die that decides our future or do we just get married, then ****?

What if I think there is more to it? What if I think there should be some logic involved? My heart is flippant, truant, untrustworthy, so why should I trust its random call?

It seems that if I want love to work, my brain must love you too. It must get rid of the doubts, the questions, the inherent sadness; it must find new topics on which to muse.

When I think of you I shouldn’t feel doubt, no, my mind should be as my heart. It too should feel the driving need, the confidence, the certainty, it too should ache like fire when we part.

Should I accept that I have mixed emotions, that there are parts of me morality calls wrong? Should I pay attention to these traits of mine, the ones that when you beckon, begs me not to follow along?

I hold things inside me which are not pure or beautiful, desires and darkness and twisted wants. These things you cannot satisfy, in fact, you combat them on every front.

Should then I strive to ignore and erase these traits of mine, that some might think impure? Or should I embrace who I fully am, get rid of you, and let these traits endure?

For I do not think both can exist, there is no middle ground or compromise. It is you or them, me or you, I think that I must choose a side.

Never will my faults play with yours, never will my avarice for life hold hands with your purity or self-right. Never will you accept my darkness, never to live with my faults, you could never live any life but yours, that the life of light.

So now the questions ramble on, each an elaboration on a theme. It seems that I must choose soon, I must choose who I will be… I must choose to become you, or choose to stay true to me.
It should have been us.

We both know it to be true; it should be you beside me. It should be you laying here next to me. It should be you riding shotgun with your hair blowing in the wind. It should be you I’m writing love notes to, you I’m calling at midnight, and you I’m taking home from this bar.

It should have been us.

It should be me beside you. It should be me laying there in the hammock, reading beside a river. It should be me taking goofy pictures with you at the mall. It should be me using my sleeve to wipe your tears and my kisses to flush your cheeks. It should be me, beside you.

It should have been us.

We would have been so great together. We would have been never better. We would have learned to laugh and love and live through whatever came at us. It should have been you and me, you and me, you and me… Forever
Written a long time ago
Do you trust me?
You do? Are you sure?

How unfortunate.

I thought you had better judgement.
I can see that you need someone, something; you need a distraction now. How convenient, here I am. I'll help you bounce back. The perfect rebound, I'm the cure for your new illness.

I'll take you to every beautiful place, I'll kiss you under ever landmark. I'll wipe away their memories, pushing mine into their place.

Let me take you on new kinds of dates, the kind you've never felt. I can show you excitement and danger, how to hit back below the belt.

I'll show you hot and fast. We'll make love and then we'll ****. I'll spin you around and then go down, making you forget whoever he was.

I can act out your fantasies, indeed, you'll play in mine too. I have not shame nor hindrance yet. I am the embodiment of two extremes, push you to your very limits.

In me, you can find everything that a fun relationship may be. You'll find dreams; what you like and don't. You'll forget the pain of the recent past. I am the perfect distraction.

A perfect distraction perhaps, but no more can I be. Odds are I'll get bored and you'll get tired, and we will cease as you and me. We can part ways, shaking hands, retaining only memories as we're freed.

Let me be your rebound, it's something of my speciality. Let me be your distraction, let me set you free.
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