Heartbreak Hangover Pt. 1

The walls are lighter now, less of you, less of me, less of the usness that is haunting me, less of the usness that is useless to think of now. The walls are covered now in nothing but what used to be but should never be again, covered in the reminder of how some things go on for so long after they should end, covered in your cowardice and inability to say how you actually feel. And that's okay. Because I already knew.

If I could erase anybody, it would have to be you. I would be Jim Carrey, and you would have destroyed me. But this is not a movie. This is just me and I'm just here with my cat realizing it had been there all along, and I was so stubborn to hold on, and I was dumb to think of hope around my wrist as having power. It is what it is, really.

This is all that I will write of you, at least on purpose. You are not like the others. You do not get a future. You are gone now, nothing but a dream, nothing but a very distant memory, nothing but the fuzz between the stations. You don't get to have me. You get nothing.

Wish You Were Here.

Listening to a song that used to make me cry, a song I still can't hear around other people, a song that reminds me of a man before my time, a song that sings to me differently when I am sad and much differently since I stopped missing you years and years ago. We are in another world now: we are dinosaurs. We are listening to rock n roll on cold cement driveways. We are in love somewhere in memory, but not here. We have never been in love here. We have maybe never been in love really, but somewhere in the memory if you look at things like I will, you will see my face and yours in the soft moment before a first kiss. We will remember the slowness of things. I wish you were anywhere but here, but I am still floating in this moment remembering how love can make you cry. I am in the same place with somebody new, a million miles away from where it all began, from where the cosmos first flowed from our finger tips and wrote the original language of love. We are alive in that place eating spaghetti for breakfast.

[p]

Your tattoo sings this song when you are lonely, and others when you are glad. Your tattoo cries when it remembers losing to drug addiction or denying it, or denying pretty girls with big eyes, of all colors, girls with Canadian blood, girls with good taste in music, girls with no taste in music, girls with no lips, girls like grandmas, girls like the Beatles' "Here Comes the Sun," girls like me, girls like me, some girls like me. In the middle of things, we are metal hearts and logical. But when things are in the middle of us, we are lost in space, we are dying, we are hoping somebody finds us and shakes it out of us and lets us go before we need you. There are books about this. There are classes for this. But there is no problem with this, no matter what people tell you. I guess I thought you were trying to be different.

This is the loneliest moment so far. This is the longest without you. This is maybe the least wonderful thing. This is what people mean. This is why girls eat ice cream, this is why they never come back, because of this moment, because of this hurt, because who could forgive a boy who lets them feel this way?

Because they love you.

Because that's the most important.

The thing about me is I knowingly don't listen to anybody else. It's not because I don't value other people or respect their successes or wisdom. I don't listen because only I know what I need, what's good for me. Only I know in my heart what I need to do, how I need to do it.

Call it stubborn, or stupid, or being a control freak, but this is who I always have been. It's not a lack of willingness to change. The truth is, I have never exactly steered myself wrong.

I believe the divine light inside me is the guide. That is what I follow. Not some self-help book by somebody who has never met me before. Thanks, but I'm going to finish my teen fiction novel and get soda drunk.

How to lose a guy in less than 600 days, results guaranteed

Fall in love first.