The White Stripes, You don't know What Love Is(You Just Do As You're Told)
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You wanted to know me, but not at the times when I was in a bad place. Not when my lungs were filled with thorns and I was begging for air. Not when I was dreaming of blades and praying for pain just to feel something besides the constant worry again.
You wanted to know me, but in the wrong way. You kept forgetting that I too had flaws and dismissed the ones I brought up in our conversations.
There's no love in moaning someone's name if you don't stop to ask if it feels the same for them, you know?
You are a selfish lover, my dear, above all.
You say that I killed you without even stopping to think if my decisions mutilated my heart as well. What I did, was what I had to. Who will take care of me if I don't? You certainly won't. Not the way I need you to, anyway.
We went fast and burned out even faster and it's hard to accept, I know. But, you know, I really did think you meant it when you told me you understood that this is what I had to do. I myself know I would do the same again, if I had to.
You were Autumn. Colourful and mesmerizing. Sadistic in your ways of ignoring the pain and being persistent in your hate.
I liked it because I always thought of Autumn as a mother lulling her children to sleep. So gracious and caring. You were not, but I swear sometimes you did feel like a lullaby. As safe as a sunny afternoon and as sweet as piano notes.
And now you send me songs. Melodies correlating with your heartache. Which would be fine. It would be perfectly alright and understandable if you didn't write it out too. Flaunting your grief for everyone to relate. You say you're certain I won't take the time to read it, but you know better than those feverish words you type, don't you love?
Because I do. I read because it comes as natural as breathing. And you know it.
The night we parted I dreamed of your kisses and snakes. And I now know what it meant.
Write whatever you want dear. Paint me standing and smiling in rivers of blood, wrangled and choking in my past lovers' guts. Paint me a villain because you can't see that a couple is made of two. Make me out to be as ruthless as Joker and as unemotional as Five. Blur the lines and make me a killer. Merciless and cruel. As cruel as Death herself can seem, in the eyes of the living at least.
But don't reach out. Never reach out again.
I don't need your songs, I have enough sad melodies as it is. I don't need your grief, because I have enough on my own. Let the only place for me to be close to you be in your poetry.
Did you know that I shook with fear and worry the day we parted? Wasn't able to even hold a cup without making it out to be as broken as I was. Did you know just how fast panic arose when the silence fell? Walls crumbled at the mere thought of the end. Yet I knew I had to do it. And trust me when I say, I would do it again.
It wasn't healthy and it wasn't right. It was sweet and beautiful, but not what I need.
You made me feel old and like I'm being held far more responsible than I should have been. Guilty and furious. And I resent you for that. I think I always will. The thoughts of distance made me realize it.
I hope one day you'll understand that love takes two. And that break up does too.
