suptch

I don't like to blame people, it means I allowed incompetence in my person, that's why abuse feels patronizing, and intimacy feels like obligation, to co-create the reality of emotional patterns, to realize that maybe the other person doesn't know what I know about us ending. It's not that I know more, it's just I know what it means to be alive a little more even when it ends in disappointment. so I surrender to the experience, did you know that? I deliberately chose that shit but with you? the lines get blurred. 
          
          Anyway, my life is a cosmic joke, I don't want to do anything out of spite, I hate that shit, pride and spite, but that's one part of the joke. it's why I'm not good at anything, it's why I strive for boredom, in folly and weakness. If I'm meek, I don't have anything to be vicarious about. I'm pathetic i know.  I'm going to be great, and it will be out of spite, because once I started loving you, I was going to be remade either way, in each transformation and each version, because once a boundary is blurred, especially the one I made for you to conflate it as a worthy sacrifice, yea, that shit, its been years, but i have intimacy issues. 
          
          and I still love you, who am I to explain this to? it's all a fucking joke. you're telling me within the past years we've been apart, you came across someone with a similar name to mine who is now famous, and I've been crying to their music finally feeling like I deserve life or to move on, while who knows where you've been fucking off to. Fine, I'll be good. call me egotistical, but fuck, I'll be good. 
          
          I've tried to deny the way my life has played out so far, sometimes its fantastical, the coincidences, the way chronic illness is just a plot twist of vindication, the way I struggle to love or can't love people, it never feels like mine but if my life has to be some shitty plot, fine. I'll be on my chuunibyou shit.

ngl i started writing isekais in spite of rudeus, like idgaf, idgafFFFFUCKKKKKKKK I HATE THIS MOFOOO like he was my last strAWWW! I'm an avid consumer of all isekai's of all mediums and he pisses me offf, from the light novels, to the manga, to the damn anime!!!! UGHHHH the only good thing about it is it's art everything else good fine, but him omg are you kidding meee, are you fucking kidding me

I need a reigen arataka x the great pretender crossover

Spite is another creature when you remember why you started all this procedural pain in the first place. Spite is one thing I can't fall back into, I die fast under love especially when I don't love back. I am so sick and I hope you watch. 
          
          Guys, omg, why are people so fake. I feel like I'm 13 again. 

I'm still emotionally young, good, i thought i was dead for a second. There's so much to own in being immature, but atleast it's yours, atleast it's emotional labor that's yours. honestly people need to stop fucking with my timeline. ill be immature over here, and you be immature over there. You'll see it's better in the long run, just don't conflate your pride for boundaries. that shit fucks up good things. and if anything, you don't need it to thrive, you need connection but i get being comfortable is better. I lost a lot of beautiful people to it. or maybe im conflating, whats the relationship between shame and pride and bounderies? yea, it's a good thing to be emotionally young. i used to be so dead.

Wow, of course I'm going to resonate with what I write, but the feeling is locked in, it left my body and transferred into that subpar paragraph. Now, I don't feel it anymore until I see the words. And man, I was a sick fuck. It's an intimacy that I'm reliving, between that version of myself and the version of somebody else I had in my head. Girl, I'm sorry. Anyway, people should really watch out for energies, especially if you're reading something and feel it. 

You only remember good things, and I wonder if that is a trap too. One to chase vindication, the other where I do it to myself, remembering all the bad things and you, cyclical in your laughs and love, suffused like sickness in sweat, under blankets. I should have let it go years ago, I knew it was only good fun. All these traps made with a lack of intent, we were never trying to build anything. God, I wanted something. I wanted it. I accept it, I'll come back to you and tell you, with all fumbling foolishness because what I look like to you couldn't be worse than who I was when I didn't even know to ask for things, to live. You only remember good things, and maybe that's your love, maybe that's your guilt. Let's restart, let's be defined by forgiveness. 
          
          

You tell me you know because it's easier to admit stagnancy in our demeanors. You tell me you know not to explore the nuances of our connection but to acknowledge that it will happen. You tell me you know because there's no easier way to admit to right now. 
          I know you know, and that's the bandwidth of our intimacy. The only way forward. I know. 

When I realized I couldn't love you the best, versions of us died and I would love you in a future, always a future, to deny that I pushed all of it away, for it to sleep in possibility than right now. 
          
          Back then, I would think of another life, a hundred of them but the more I live this one hardly by your side but your weary soul, I realize, could another life prove we would be there in each other's hardest moments. Why not then, back then, why not now? 
          
          Apathy was the softest thing we gave to each other when our love shattered our identities, when our pride in who we were to each other couldn't pull through. Life tested us, and we failed. In the future I'll love you better, but always in the future because your softness is still in abundance. I don't deserve to ask for more that you remember me like a fact rather than an emotion crossing timelines, crossing cured memories to feel in an honest way. 
          
          I feel you not in the immaturity of asking for imaginary lives. I feel you. I feel you. I wouldn't take back anything even if I can't make you feel seen now, even if I'm not allowed. Who you are is someone that is soft on my soul. 

Everything is so dumb, when you don't even care for yourself. Like you spend years writing poetry over one person, and every second of doing that, you know you're messed up. And you're okay with it, but one day,  you wake up, realize the consequences were being boring. No, you knew then too, but it created a lack of intimacy with the world you craved for so long. But guess what. You meet great people, and now you have to catch up. And the whole time you were telling the world and yourself you were boring, you were really just angry. And you don't want these great people to know. now I have to get hobbies to explain away my childhood, ugh. The things I do for myself.