He missed October. He told me he'd always wait for me, he couldn't even see the girl I always wanted to be.
He missed October. He went out instead, he was never filled with dread, the emotions he was meant to feel, got put on me; in my head.
He missed October. Our story is almost cathartic, there was so much opportunity, this is my epitome.
He missed October. To round up our love would be pointless, i feel so fucking useless. But now its gone, I am moving on, I finally feel colour even though your story will always go on. This is a chapter of my life I am willing to end because we wont be companions, not even friends. A friend doesn't do that, make you gasping for your life, always wondering what made you full of strife.
A friend doesn't make you blame yourself even when it comes to terms of battling with her health. A friend makes you feel loved, full of clarity and worship. But fuck you, you're fucking shit.
I am going to be happy if it is the last thing I do because I am no longer your prize to take to show and tell, ironically on Gods day of rest, you made it hell!
I feel like a shakespearean character looking for somewhere to float, like Ophelia or Desdemona. They always suffer the adrogynistic pain, those are my angels with nothing to gain. They always felt like they had to live up to a man, one like a general or just one who never had a plan.
Love is unjust, it always will be, never ever think it makes your value more or less pretty. You're beautiful my girl, from your head to your toes. This is a Scarlett letter to any one hurting out there, you're a god/goddess dry those tears and flick your hair.
This is my concluding non-suicide speech, and love will make you feel drowning so deep. Get your high heels on and take that stand, never ever live up to a man.
