Your clothes on everyone else's bodies leading my heart to skip a beat every time I thought I saw you.
Your message - the last one I got before my phone died - right as I boarded that plane to the Paradise City.
Your smell lingering on all of my going-out clothes as I unpacked my bags all by myself on that cold, cold night.
Your name on that dingy bathroom stall, hauting me with someone else's initials carved beside it.
Your song on TV while I failed to fall asleep, scared of what was to come.
Your face tattooed onto my memories all day and night and the in between.
Your laughter, your delays, your insanely appealing sighs, your ridiculous red shoes, your incredibly hot jacket, your ignoring me, your unexpectedly sweet messages before I went to sleep, your running away, your coming back, your getting me into trouble, your getting me out of trouble, your overdrinking, your insolence, your arrogance, your humor, your intelligence, your expertise in getting me to contradict myself...
I wanna say fuck you and I wanna say I love you. I guess I fucking love you and I'm sure I love fucking you. I wanna stop calling you and I wanna call you right now. I want you to disappear from my head and my life and I want you to never ever leave my head and life again. I wanna dress up for you and I wanna undress for you. I wanna tell you that I like it when it hurts and I wanna tell you just how much it hurts to like you.
You're the reason behind this chaos. You're the reason behind my lack of interest in anything that doesn't involve you. You're the reason I'm a liar and an asshole. You. Are. The. Reason. PERIOD.
I don't even like you. At all. Not a single bit. In fact, I hate you. I even hate people like you.
And yet you have me here right now, anxiously counting the minutes 'till I see you again. Anxiously hoping you won't cancel. Anxiously longing for just one last night around your unbearable presence. One last time.
Unless you tell me the contrary.
*
I meant to post this a while ago. It doesn't quite fit my current situation anymore, but still is (was?) meaningful nonetheless. I guess it's just another part of my "Closure" series - a considerably late last fit of catharsis. Hopefully.
1 comment:
still is ?
me lembrou um trecho da FY muito bom:
"Não posso mais roer os nervos enquanto as horas passam e você não aparece. Preciso me poupar. Não pretendo mais sofrer, depois, quando você sumir de vez. Sofrer por amor é pura vaidade. Vou olhar para retratos meus e, de novo, sentirei orgulho de mim. Fotos minhas antes de você. Quando eu ainda não tinha provado desse seu veneno vicioso. Da saliva que se fez heroína. Do cheiro que se fez lança-perfume. Deveria ter uma tabela antipaixão como as que fizeram para os tabagistas. Marcaríamos um xis nas vezes em que pensássemos no outro. Assumindo assim nossa fraqueza. Contando as horas em que fôssemos capazes de esquecer. Poucas, no meu caso, já que tudo me lembra você. E de noite as coisas pioram. Mas quero, e posso, vencer essa semana. Sobreviver à abstinência de você por sete dias. Ao éter da mentira, que deixou-nos malucas e cegas. Estávamos correndo descalças entre os destroços da cidade grande. Seremos crianças? Seremos julgadas como adultas. Sendo a culpa toda sua, que acreditou no ar que respirava. No sujo. Na inveja. Perdemos tudo na paisagem desolada dessa cidade. Cidade feia. E, no feio, nos perdemos. Ou me perdi. Sozinha. Para depois ficar aqui, sentada no meio-fio."
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