I several fears, but one of them is that one day, everyone will discover what a bitch I am and leave me.
When someone leaves me (not cause they found out, but just because they have to) the reason why I feel so sad is not really because they're leaving, but because I fear the day when I wake up and discover I don't miss them anymore.
Sometimes, I feel like yelling: I LEAVE FIRST.
"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so that I never have to live without you." - Winnie the Pooh
But that isn't what I want.
This is what I want: If you're my friend... I don't want to ever live without you. If there's one thing I'm not, it's masochistic. I'm not masochistic. I don't want to hurt when you leave and all I want is to live with you in my life.
Thing is, humans move on. Side effect of dying/living. We move on and one day, I'm not going to hurt because you're gone from my life.
And that's equally scary. To one day know that I'm not going to miss you anymore, that's almost just as bad as losing you in the first place.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Monday, May 20, 2013
Suddenly
Today I feel gloomy and moody and sorta sad.
People tell you not to change. But what if I want to? If the perfect guy needs to love me for who I am, I want to be what the perfect guy wants. Is that so bad?
I can't do that, I know I can't. But doesn't keep me from wanting to.
It's not like it's possible anyway. I'll probably stay unwanted for a long while yet.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Reasons
Everything has a reason because God exists. And when God exists, everything that happens to you and everything a person does has a reason.
The reason can be mind-blowingly simple or extremely, confusingly complex. But regardless, there still is a reason.
So I want to know why.
I want to know why I was rejected. He says it is because he cannot view me as more than a friend. But why? Is there something so fundamentally wrong with me that no guy can see me as their other half?
If there are guys who can, why haven't they approached me? Talked to me? Must I be the one who starts things first? I have always been the one to start things first.
I like you. I like your face, the way you talk, your hands, your hobbies, I like you. And it's unfair to ask you to like me the same way. I know that. But surely you have thought of people you could consider being your "one and only", your "forever". Why can't you see me in your future?
I want to know.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Alone
My hopes died on the keyboard.
Last night, I think, you went overboard.
With your reply to me and I think I'm giving up tonight.
I'm never going to make it right.
The time will come for me to have
My own loves, lies, and regrets.
And by that time, I won't dream of you.
I hope I won't dream of you.
Tonight.
I'll.
Be.
Alone.
Tonight.
I.
Hope.
I.
Will.
Not.
Dream.
Of.
You.
Tonight.
Last night, I think, you went overboard.
With your reply to me and I think I'm giving up tonight.
I'm never going to make it right.
The time will come for me to have
My own loves, lies, and regrets.
And by that time, I won't dream of you.
I hope I won't dream of you.
Tonight.
I'll.
Be.
Alone.
Tonight.
I.
Hope.
I.
Will.
Not.
Dream.
Of.
You.
Tonight.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Voice
I swear I can still hear your voice.
It's like on a wind. Brushes past me. Old memory, long forgotten, but it whistles past my ear.
I think I can hear you.
You're laughing. You often did, around us. But you were often silent as well.
Oh I do wish you had spoke more often. Maybe then I could hear you clearer. Maybe then my memory of your voice would stay by me for longer.
I remember once, I had a headache. And when I woke, you were right there in front of me.
It's so scary how I know I'll never see you like that again. That I'll never hear the sound of your voice. That I'll never hug you again.
I used to feel guilty about not thinking about you, Anna. I used to feel guilty that a person could forget so easily! How could I? How could I forget you?! How could I not think of you more often?! I would feel horrible.
Sometimes now, I think the same. I think of you and wonder my thoughts never rest on you, and then I would feel a little guilt.
The human mind is an expert on self-preservation. Up till now, even two years later, I still have to force myself to remember that you're dead. I can't just remember. I know you're gone, but it doesn't click. Hurts too much when it does click I guess.
Even as I'm writing this, I keep wondering if you're reading this.
If you're reading this Anna, I've moved on.
But I still miss you.
It's like on a wind. Brushes past me. Old memory, long forgotten, but it whistles past my ear.
I think I can hear you.
You're laughing. You often did, around us. But you were often silent as well.
Oh I do wish you had spoke more often. Maybe then I could hear you clearer. Maybe then my memory of your voice would stay by me for longer.
I remember once, I had a headache. And when I woke, you were right there in front of me.
It's so scary how I know I'll never see you like that again. That I'll never hear the sound of your voice. That I'll never hug you again.
I used to feel guilty about not thinking about you, Anna. I used to feel guilty that a person could forget so easily! How could I? How could I forget you?! How could I not think of you more often?! I would feel horrible.
Sometimes now, I think the same. I think of you and wonder my thoughts never rest on you, and then I would feel a little guilt.
The human mind is an expert on self-preservation. Up till now, even two years later, I still have to force myself to remember that you're dead. I can't just remember. I know you're gone, but it doesn't click. Hurts too much when it does click I guess.
Even as I'm writing this, I keep wondering if you're reading this.
If you're reading this Anna, I've moved on.
But I still miss you.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
The Fall
The Fall
The cars look like ants. The people look like moving colored pinpricks.
What a perspective.
Every single dot down below had their own thoughts and decisions and problems and questions roiling in their minds, but from here, they were but mere dots.
Placing a distance from the world helped to make it seem so insignificant. It made her understand how some people could kill.
But that wasn't what she was up here for; to understand the mentality of a killer. No. She was up here only because it was high. That really was all.
She was on the roof of some building. She didn't remember which one, nor did she particularly care to remember. Metal railings ran round the perimeter of the roof top in an attempt to keep people from falling off. A weather beaten sign stood in a corner, saying in faded red letters "DO NOT SIT ON RAILINGS" and she spared it a glance before hopping right onto the railings and hooking her legs around the bottom rails.
"Because fuck you." She shrugged as she spoke aloud to no one in particular.
The wind blew across her face, bringing with it the smell of gas fumes and smoke... The smells of the city. The busy busy buzzing city, absolutely brimming with life.
She shrugged again as if brushing off a feeling she didn't want or a memory she didn't like.
"Time to do what you came here to do." She speaks like a reminder, again to no one. Maybe to herself.
She's wearing an oversized jacket and a pair of skinny jeans. From the pockets of the jacket she pulls out a note. It's crumpled and crinkled and yellowed. It looks like it had seen better days once, as a page in a notebook or as a piece of foolscap paper. She spreads it out with her hands and tries to flatten out the creases. Then she puts it in her cupped palms and holds it out to the city.
The note flies away from here, carried by the light breeze to somewhere.. She doesn't know where. But that's the point. She begins to regret not giving it purposefully to someone specific, but it's too late now anyway.
She watches as the note goes out of sight before she looks down again.
People like pinpricks. Cars like ants.
She unhooks her legs.
There's a minute of freedom. She can feel it, slipping and sliding in and out of her reach.
Closes her eyes.
The world goes black. Someone honks. Someone yells. But that's okay.
Pushes.
And now, there's only the fall.
---
The same day...
"Momma! Come look!!! There's something stuck on the window!" Seven year old Mindy yelled. Kaylie rolled her eyes and walked out to their living room, wiping her hands on her apron.
"What is it, honey?"
"There's something stuck on our window!"
Kaylie inwardly smirked at the idea of it being a window. The 'window' was a tiny, one paned square and it opened out sideways to a spectacular view of the walls of the next apartment block.
Said window currently had a huge, A4 sized piece of lined paper stuck to it. It had writing.
"Let's get it in, shall we?" She asked little Mindy who nodded vigorously.
She opened the window and gently peeled the paper off the window and began to crumple it up. Then she noticed that some of it was still empty so she gave the paper to Mindy. "Here, you can draw on this."
Mindy took it and ran off to her room. Kaylie smiled at her antics as she closed the window. 'The young ones were so energetic now,' she thought to herself, 'I am sure that when I was younger, I wasn't half as active.'
She had not even made it back to the kitchen when Mindy came running out again.
"Momma? What's su-ee-cide?" She enunciated carefully, face scrunched up with the effort.
"It's when a person kills themselves." Kaylie answered, "Where did you learn that?"
"From the letter!"
"The letter?"
"Yeah! The one you took from the window." Mindy thrusted the paper at her mother. "It's too hard for me. Read it to me?"
Kaylie looked at it dubiously.
"Okay. Let's read this."
The cars look like ants. The people look like moving colored pinpricks.
What a perspective.
Every single dot down below had their own thoughts and decisions and problems and questions roiling in their minds, but from here, they were but mere dots.
Placing a distance from the world helped to make it seem so insignificant. It made her understand how some people could kill.
But that wasn't what she was up here for; to understand the mentality of a killer. No. She was up here only because it was high. That really was all.
She was on the roof of some building. She didn't remember which one, nor did she particularly care to remember. Metal railings ran round the perimeter of the roof top in an attempt to keep people from falling off. A weather beaten sign stood in a corner, saying in faded red letters "DO NOT SIT ON RAILINGS" and she spared it a glance before hopping right onto the railings and hooking her legs around the bottom rails.
"Because fuck you." She shrugged as she spoke aloud to no one in particular.
The wind blew across her face, bringing with it the smell of gas fumes and smoke... The smells of the city. The busy busy buzzing city, absolutely brimming with life.
She shrugged again as if brushing off a feeling she didn't want or a memory she didn't like.
"Time to do what you came here to do." She speaks like a reminder, again to no one. Maybe to herself.
She's wearing an oversized jacket and a pair of skinny jeans. From the pockets of the jacket she pulls out a note. It's crumpled and crinkled and yellowed. It looks like it had seen better days once, as a page in a notebook or as a piece of foolscap paper. She spreads it out with her hands and tries to flatten out the creases. Then she puts it in her cupped palms and holds it out to the city.
The note flies away from here, carried by the light breeze to somewhere.. She doesn't know where. But that's the point. She begins to regret not giving it purposefully to someone specific, but it's too late now anyway.
She watches as the note goes out of sight before she looks down again.
People like pinpricks. Cars like ants.
She unhooks her legs.
There's a minute of freedom. She can feel it, slipping and sliding in and out of her reach.
Closes her eyes.
The world goes black. Someone honks. Someone yells. But that's okay.
Pushes.
And now, there's only the fall.
---
The same day...
"Momma! Come look!!! There's something stuck on the window!" Seven year old Mindy yelled. Kaylie rolled her eyes and walked out to their living room, wiping her hands on her apron.
"What is it, honey?"
"There's something stuck on our window!"
Kaylie inwardly smirked at the idea of it being a window. The 'window' was a tiny, one paned square and it opened out sideways to a spectacular view of the walls of the next apartment block.
Said window currently had a huge, A4 sized piece of lined paper stuck to it. It had writing.
"Let's get it in, shall we?" She asked little Mindy who nodded vigorously.
She opened the window and gently peeled the paper off the window and began to crumple it up. Then she noticed that some of it was still empty so she gave the paper to Mindy. "Here, you can draw on this."
Mindy took it and ran off to her room. Kaylie smiled at her antics as she closed the window. 'The young ones were so energetic now,' she thought to herself, 'I am sure that when I was younger, I wasn't half as active.'
She had not even made it back to the kitchen when Mindy came running out again.
"Momma? What's su-ee-cide?" She enunciated carefully, face scrunched up with the effort.
"It's when a person kills themselves." Kaylie answered, "Where did you learn that?"
"From the letter!"
"The letter?"
"Yeah! The one you took from the window." Mindy thrusted the paper at her mother. "It's too hard for me. Read it to me?"
Kaylie looked at it dubiously.
"Okay. Let's read this."
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Confession
I heard you cry a few nights ago. And it was like nothing I've ever heard.
It didn't sound like you at all.
I wonder how it must be like to feel so weak, but act so strong. To let everyone lean on you, when you're falling apart.
I really admire you now. Cause I don't do what you do. I don't act strong, I don't pretend, I could not be what you are.
You, my dear, are a hero.
It didn't sound like you at all.
I wonder how it must be like to feel so weak, but act so strong. To let everyone lean on you, when you're falling apart.
I really admire you now. Cause I don't do what you do. I don't act strong, I don't pretend, I could not be what you are.
You, my dear, are a hero.
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