Goodbye. This is maybe a blessing in disguise. Well thats why my fingers are crossed. You haven't broken the news yet and there are possiblities. But I know what this is. A parting. I have failed yet again to be perfect. I was just being me.as you type those pixals I can't help but feel cut off. I was hopeful. I felt something which I never though I would again. I am prepared though this time. You were a but of an idoit to me. Rude and self centred. Even if I don't live up to your standards.
Are you supposed to look at people's feet. I know my entries are holding a them of body parts. But really? I never look down at people's feet. It never has concerned me how you get from A to B. Shoes are only needed to make things less painful. Believe me if society didn't require me to wear shoes I would be skipping through meadows. I always wear my older converse. or similar cheap ones. Apprently you needs boots or strong leather ones to match your outfit. Really? But they are expensive and I don't ever look at anyone's feet.
'your so self centred'I can't help but look blankly at you. Why do you think you can judge me? I don't believe I have ever done anything. Never criticised you. You pull me down yelling in my face. Do you think you can break me. I won't break here. I won't give you the pleasure. It is your fault I am in a bad mood. You let me down. I can't wait for freedom.Do you remember that time when you longed for it. I can't imagine you were that different from me.A young rebel without a cause. Shush.
Died you Know you are dead to me? I always wondered if you did. You shouldn't really know, I have never told you. But eys I see you as dead. The one I needed is gone and cold. You are just some nightmare dug up to haunt me. I see flashes of the real ghost of you, in brief eye contact that lasts split seconds. Then you are gone and I am left with a monster. You Should probably remain dead. The that way I can grieve without being chased by some revolting memory which cuts me deeper than living.
Books are interesting things. Books telling you how to live your life is another matter. There is enough demanding as it is without being sold advice. If I want it I will ask. Books trying to tell me how to be a better person can go do something unpleasent to themselves. How does someone who hasn't met me even consider the fact that I want a life like theirs. I will make my own path.You don't know what I'm thinking, you don't even know my name.So try telling someone else that Love isn't and emotion it's a descision.
Well I didn't tell anyone but a bird flew bySaw what I'd done and set up a nest outsideAnd he sang about what I'd become
He sang so loud sang so clearI was afraid all the neighbors would hearSo I invited him in just to reason with himI promised I wouldn't do it again
But he sang louder and louder inside the houseAnd now I couldn't get him outSo I trapped him under a cardboard boxAnd stood on it to make him stopI'm Not sure why. But some how, Florence manages to make something vile something rather beautiful, If only.
Things are beginning to fall into shape. A bit of luck helped be get things straight. I might not have much to do but it feels like alot.I have to decide what matters and if I can be bothered. would it matter if I was? That the worry. To make effort for the sake of nothing.It would seem a waste. I should be more motivated. But I don't care any more. I blame you.It's always your fault. I suppose I will have to. I have to aim high. others will use me as a spring board otherwise.