I am often told that i give up too quickly But the answer is I never fully give in to begin with I keep my admiration locked away like a precious jewel All my love is just unsent postcards I keep in a packed suitcase. I am afraid to give in to my heart Because what if my heart is lying to me? What if my heart is playing a cruel trick on me? What if the nervous beating of my heart is just the roller coaster I have yet to leave.
You thought you'd left the days of make believe behind by the time you were nine. And yet, years later, here you are making yourself believe you'll be okay so you can make your baby believe the same. Somewhere along the way, we seem to correlate imagination with maturity. But what if it has less to do with growing up and more to do with surviving? What if it's a defense mechanism?
I love the person I've become/but I hate the person I had to be to get to her/ I wouldn't write the younger years out/for fear of who that would shape her to be today/that is you would find a completely different person/still bathing in lukewarm water/or lost at sea in a turbulent trapped mind/unaware/and yet I wish I could pick and choose/to remove those images, those words, the fighting/not all the bad/but the biggest of these./Who would she be?
Do you ever wish you prevent certain things from happening? Who would you be now? For better or worse?
In dreams, I've lived. In life, I'll die. In dreams, I get to say "hello" again. In life, I have to say goodbye. In dreams, I'm not afraid. But in life, I'm terrified. Terrified of what I don't know. What I can't see. Terrified I won't be who I'm meant to be. But what if that's by design? What if dreams are visions of heaven and nightmares visions of hell? I could sit here forever hypothesizing, so I'll leave you with one final thought. We tell each other to follow our dreams. If dreams are visions of heaven, maybe all of our failures, our efforts, are not for naught.
I don't see how it could get better. But I don't see how it could be worse either. Am I trying too hard or not enough? What if it's both? What if all the answers are in the space between? We always say there's 2 sides to every story. What if the truth is in the middle?
what if there was a lock with no key to throw away? what if it could be sealed with no lips having a taste? what if it held your words with no rope to tie it down? what if it can be made with just words with no sound?
everything was built through a promise. so don't break it, because a promise is a promise and I only believe it because you're the one who made it. don't be like them, I hope to god that you're not like them. eating their words until they're full while I'm empty and broken.