She's so lovely. She's so sweet and caring and kind. And she's so funny, so witty. I love how smart she can be and how she makes me think. And I love how she can keep up with what I'm thinking, even though she completely disregards it. I know I feel so much for her but why is it so numb. I don't remember it being so bland, so static. I don't remember this shitty, monotone neutrality. What happened to my fire and my vibrant thirst for life. At this point it's just like I couldn't give a fuck what happens, to me or to anyone. And she's sweet. She's kind and she's caring and she's lovely. And she deserves better than this. She deserves better than me.
It's not like I don't love her it's just -
It's like I'm a fucking disease. I know I'm no good for her and I know I'll probably get bored like I do with everything and I'll treat her way worse than she deserves. Or maybe vice versa and I'll end up hating her but loving her too much to admit it. But I can't stop thinking about her. And I can't stop thinking about what we could be. About her hands on my cheek. On my waist. On my thighs, up my side and in my hair. I want her so bad but it's not in the way that I want her to be wanted. Or at least not always. Sure I might love her right now. And I could give her a love she'd remember for a lifetime. But it won't last a lifetime and one of us is going to end up remembering pieces of the other for a lifetime.
Small pieces that I didn't think I would remember. That I didn't think I would want to forget.
I won't underestimate this one. Not like I underestimated the way she blows on the edge of her cigarette after she lights it. The way she'll hold you like you've never been held before. Like you'll never be left alone no matter how badly you want it. I won't underestimate her like I did her moody tantrums. Her soft, sad smile. Her huge grin. The colour yellow isn't the same. Tattoos of who I am could never be the same. Cigarettes remind me of her and she barely even smokes anymore. Not again. Sometimes it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
Sometimes it's better to have never loved at all.
Yet everytime I see a cute bird I think of you. And I think it might be too late for me to never love at all.
