Don't look this way.
There a million people you could be falling over yourself for, and I do NOT want to be one of them. Well, I do, but that's not the point.
Yeah, you're cute. And funny. And smart. And just so damn perfect. I get that. But what about me? What do you see in me? What could you possible see in a half-dead, overdosed, drunken guy like me?
Honey, there's a black stain on my heart, and I have tried every brand of bleach on the market. That hole right there? You can't fill it. Sorry, but you just can't fill it.
Look at my arm. Look at all the ink I had drawn into me. You think your mother would like this? You're a sweet girl. You look good in your baby blue shorts, showing off those dark cocoa legs. You're beautiful. You think you'd want to be with someone ugly like me?
I can imagine your father looking at me, dark skinny jeans and the hair in my face. Spare him the disappointment. He wants a good life for you. Marry a doctor, he'll say. Don't get with the poor little white boy who's too proud to suck up to his rich daddy.
You want a proud bastard like me? All this pride, and nothing to show for.
Now, don't make that face. Don't pout your pink lips at me. I don't want to see that mascara running. It's for the best. I swear. It's for the best.
Shh, don't cry. There are so many other guys out there, so many wonderful people you haven't met yet. I don't want to drag you down. Don't let me drag you down.
Darling, please. Don't give me that shocked look. Were you really thinking I had a good side? I'm bad, inside out.
Don't open that door. My mother's sleeping in there. Yeah, she's probably drunk as hell too. Wait until she wakes up - that's when the real hell starts.
It's already midnight. Fine, I'll walk you home - but just this once. Stop giving me those looks. I don't want your pity.
Are you serious? Holding my hand? Okay, it's fine for now. But why do you have to make this so hard?
No no no. You cannot follow me all the way to Oregon. That's ridiculous. There are universities out there dying to give you a scholarship. Think about your future.
Your ear is on my chest, listening, and my hand is in your hair, and damn it, I just have to say it. Why are you making me do this? Why would you want to hear that? Why?
I love you. There, are you happy?
Damn it. I give up. I give up, okay? Hell, love me as much as you want. Love this sick, dying, lonely piece of shit. Life is too fucking short. Shit. Let's spend it together.
I want to spend it together.
There is a huge amount of feelings that follow me wherever i go, you push them down y'know? you try really hard to keep everything squashed together that it all becomes too tightly packed, like a suitcase before that dream holiday.
I'm carrying around a really heavy suitcase i think, i'm trundling on through the airport and its like those days where everything goes wrong and you just get really impatient. My passport is at the bottom of my bag so i have to take everything out to try and get it and then once i get it out i realise that my headphones are also somewhere in the bottom of my bag, this cycle continues.
You get to security and your shoes have to come off along with your belt and any electronics you have so you comply because you're not insane and you go through and they have to check your bag for some reason, then you panic because you remember that you left a joint in there last week and there might be some residue. It was fine, luckily.
You then realise that even though you followed through with all the procedures that you're still carrying your suitcase. nobody took it off and you never had to check it in, you dont know why you forgot.
Its your suitcase, its with you, you cant sit down on the plane because your suitcase is in your seat, your standing, people are falling over.
You cant do anything because of your suitcase.
Once upon a time, you said something poetic and sad. You leaned close in a diner booth and told me, "one day when you know me better, maybe you'll wish you didn't know me so well." But we've talked everyday since then. I know more about you now that I think most people around you get to. And I find it hard to imagine going from where we stand today, to any point that would make you unloveable. I wonder now why you said it at all, if there's some big secret left to be revealed. It there's some telenovela twist waiting down the line. I also wonder if you said it to see if I'd dare to try.
You’re the one I want to be with. The one who dances at gas stations at one in the morning. The one who stands in driveways with me, a little too drunk, and only lets me take one drag off his cigarette because they’re not good for me. The one who gives me food when I pick him up. The one who sits on swings on the bluffs and tells me how his life really is. The one that tells me how he feels even though it’s fucking hard. The one who sits on my kitchen floor playing guitar. The one who talks to dogs and gets embarrassed when he remembers I'm listening. The one that reads books with me. The one that calls me to talk about what I ate for dinner. The one that sits with me in diner booths and takes pictures of me blushing. The one who loves my best friends as much as I do, even though he also understands their flaws. The one that tells me he’s proud of me for doing what I’m doing because it’s fucking hard. The one that tells me about his heroes and helps me learn why they’re important. The one who tells me about his dreams like they’re on the horizon and he expects me to be there. The one who texts me every day even when I’ve moved to a different city. The one who tells me his secrets, even though I know talking about how he feels is his biggest challenge. The one who listens to me when I'm confused and sad and makes me laugh instead. The one who will keep doing little, beautiful things so this list will never end…
We are different. The ground of normal that we carefully constructed in our lives is different. I am not sure if this is a bad thing or not. I find how I see us is different. I have to stand taller and alone at times that I didn't. I think sometimes we grow to rely on other people so much that we forget the tune of our own internal music. I finally can hear the notes of me outside of us without sadness. I know this occurred out of circumstance but it is our new reality. I hope and pray that I don't forget the dance of us in finding the song of me.