She doesn't get it.
"Does every guy you meet fall in love with you?"
She doesn't get it. She's into the scars, she pushes the space further. She sat and waited in her room, while he waited in his. The older she gets, the continuous time that mockingly ticks on and on laughs. The time pushes itself between wounds; between you; between what it is she waits on. Why does she wait in the first place?
It makes me wonder.
What did he wait for? I hate California, and I hate Texas, and I hate India. I hate everywhere, because we're going to keep running.
I can't believe that it's still hurting like this.
Your voice calms me down. I'm going to be sleeping tomorrow, so you have one more night without me. I'm leaving on a Thursday, and you have plenty of bullets to shoot. Play a video game.
Am I burned? Nah.
I don't get it. I said the same thing, and it said nothing to you.
I'm leaving on a Thursday. Maybe I'm bitter and hateful. Maybe I'll someday get over it. (She's too laid back. We'll jerk it all around.)
I always wished I could somehow exert a moral influence, some kind of influence, with my silence, and instead I just get burned. "...dying of a secret illness or riding on some great accomplishment."
I could suggest a reason, but honestly, I'd have to invent one first.
It's implied that all these things are such necessary evils. I still wonder. I don't know how time has such a role in my memory, in our
interpretations of value, and it's necessary. Does it make you hurt? I don't believe time heals all wounds. We still all sat and waited.
Some things are just more evil than necessary.
And then there is the light, and it always has to be hope to somebody; it has to be truth and security.
Light just magnified it all for me.
I'd live with the lights off.
Don't ever tell me that you'd wish for me when you have no intentions of thinking of me tonight, or last night, or tomorrow.
Were you burned that badly?
It is just a validation between two people that we need someone. I feel like apologizing. Apathy. I feel like sleeping. Slipping out of
consciousness is to escape.
I have nothing to escape...except maybe the light. Maybe this. Maybe time. Maybe it encourages it.
It
doesn't have to mean a thing. It's been way too long.
I could've been the best he ever had.
It's been entirely too long since the time we had.
I feel so free.
