Σάββατο, 25 Απριλίου 2015
I'm sorry for being a horrible bitch.
I'm sorry I made you cry.
I'm sorry I made you angry.
But in the real grown up world it mostly goes like:
What the fuck do you think you're doing?
What the hell's going on?
Jesus, I don't understand you.
Like I said, grown ups.
One of my biggest vices is how I add meaning to everything. Ah, he did this, therefore it means so and so. Or he said this, thus, he meant that.
I stepped on his toes. I've reached that cynical place where no matter what I'm told, I probably won't believe it until I see it.
I did an uncool thing. My ego expanded and was oozing out of my ears. I built this worse-case-scenario and believed it to be true only because I didn't want to be unprepared for any unforeseen disasters.
And all this, ALL this, because I love him and I'm scared shitless because he can break my heart if he doesn't feel the same.
There. I said it. It's out there.
So I stepped on his toes when all I wanted to do was hug him so tight, whisper "I love you" in his ear and then look at him straight in the eye and say "I'm proud of you".
We talked and yet, I couldn't bring myself to say those words. Not because I don't feel it, but because I am so scared. Because those words actually mean something; they have a weight, a depth, hell they even have their own postal code in my case, and it's something I cannot take, and therefore say, lightly. At all.
I stepped on his toes just to get a response out of him. Because that would show that he cares right?
God I'm pathetic.
I'm sorry I stepped on your toes.
Can I tell you something?