|I. II. III. III. II. I.
||[Apr. 14th, 2008|02:29 am]
I. I'm running back. I know I will. I already have a plan. Aside from the one I had. Sometimes I just don't agree with any of them. Sometimes I know that I keep one foot in the doorway because I know that one day. One day. We will tie tin cans to bumper cars. I just don't see any other way. There is no other way. Or maybe you like knowing you're the one that, well, for lack of a better phrase, stripped me of my power.|
II. Kindness is being forced now. I don't know how to set distance between you and I. I should have never let you cross the door frame. You have to understand that I leave because my life stops when you are in it. You take me and place me on a shelf. Beneath a bell-jar. This precious, delicate thing you think I am. What business do you have forgetting what I was to you? What business do you have forgetting what you will never be to me? Play it cool. Keep your distance.
III. You and I. We have been blessed. I was afraid of what she would say to me when I told her. She began well enough. Then she did something that I never saw coming. She told me I had her blessing. If you knew us. If you knew her. If you knew how she was with me. You would see why this would be a landmark event. Despite never wanting to, I had gotten so used to if not one. The other. I can't hold my breath. I stress about these kinds of things. And why is that, love? I don't know. And why is that love? I don't know. And why? Is that love?