the thing is I never once just got to enjoy it.
I never once just got to lay in your arms without thinking about how much it was going to hurt when you left. In actuality, every single time we were together I thought about what it would be like when we weren't anymore atleast 3 times.
so I jinxed us, right from the beginning and all the way up to last week when I was hanging upside down off your bed and I imagined not even being able to sit idly through your life, instead not being apart of it at all.
I'm afraid that this love is all I have to give these days, and that makes me want to run from this city. I feel like my writing has only gone downhill with the days I stay with you but continue to write about leaving you- I'm jinxing myself, in every sense. I say I just want to be happy and I beg the clouds to rain something other than, well, rain, but I think deep down I don't actually want to enjoy life, because without my deep rooted agony and constant negativity what the **** would I spend my time doing? I'm jinxing myself, I'm forcing myself to fail. the door was knocked down and there's a gun to my head asking where the nicer things are, the ski mask comes off and it's only me, staying with a person who it will be physically impossible for me to be happy with. In any way, whether some how this gets better or not, I'll never be able to erase our past or be something different and the insecurities will destroy me. I'm going to blame it on this city and let myself leave to chase my dreams and do the things I always said I would only because I'm not sure if my pride can take putting all the blame on my own shoulders, but deep down I know if I do things different, I will see the change. If I listen the first time, I won't have to deal with the reprussions, if I date someone who looks me in the eye and doesn't ask me to be the understudy, I'll probably stop writing such self-loathing poems, and if I stop writing such self-loathing poems, maybe I'll be able to stop breaking my own heart. Maybe this is a maturity thing and one day I'm going to wake up and realize sabotaging myself is childish and pointless, or maybe I'll be that one 40-something-year-old aunt who drinks way too much red wine every holiday, makes innapropriate ******* jokes when the young kids are listening a and turns ******* the republican family members off into a game. maybe this was all for nothing. maybe I need to learn to write a poem where I say what I want to say as a fact instead of throwing maybe's around because I'm weak and cowardly and I'd rather stick my tail between my legs than learn to roar.
I never once got to hold your hand without trying to memorize what it was like for you to be close, so that when you left me I'd be able to recreate it any easier. I made leaving you so much harder because ****, I memorized it. I memorized every single word, and sigh, and moan- ****, yep the moans (****)-and cry, and I love you, and mady I miss you, and mady I need you. mady please dont go.
somewhere I created another version of us where I still think of these out of love and just simply having a good memory instead of replaying them over and over as a way to mourn you- I was throwing flowers on your grave before I even knew you. I can say you didn't give this any chance, but neither did I.