Held Responsible

"...she fell in love in the first place."

It's the general motif, don't you think?




I'd been falling, but I had never seen it happen. My tuning for self awareness had been off. I had given up before I even found where it was I had even left off. There are no specifics, no correct space. I can see myself falling for some false intentions of meaning.
"For the life of me, I cannot remember why we'd ever die for these sins..."
There is this darkened area about my anatomy I do not even recognize sometimes.
"We never talk of our lack in relationships."
I cannot even get the correct, simple aesthetic of the fundaments of my heart. I've grown acquired to the ones that go higher, then expire.
I am going crazy over nothing because that is what has always gotten to me all this time: NOTHING.
You are not the only one who has been shot down and attacked.
I hope that you find compassion and forgiveness, and I hope that you are aware of your inside demons. I hope that you hold things frustratingly dear. I hope that you let someone in with you, and I hope that they mean everything to you. I don't mean just the words, I want someone to take all of you and that they consume you in every lovely way that they could.
I'm splattered about the walls, but "the talk" never came. You cannot unlearn things.
I give myself restrictions that I do not follow, rules that I always break, and maps that I never use.
Just care! Just try! Just want to know me! Just tell me!
Just...just something.
It's simply pathetic because you don't have to mean it.
Just nothing.

I am crying all alone in my car after he hung up, and hung up.
Sometimes, when I cry, I wish that he could see it. I do not really know if it would mean anything. It isn't my vanity that drives that. Maybe I'm too detached.
Your exaggerated display of testosterone kills me. It doesn't make sense. It's defected and it's counterproductive.
Your narcissism! It screams, demanding everything of me, and I am tired. (There is a difference between being simply nice and being sincere.) You justify your crassness by loving me. Your insensitivity is biting, and it's biting deep. This degeneration of me that you thought you had scares you. It never existed!
But there I go just to acquiesce to all of you and what you have to say, no matter how much I don't want to...no matter how much I hate it. I try to ignore the more ignorant of thought, but it makes sense.
I've tried to reinforce this idea, this sense of security and of love, but I will not try to convince you of it. That is enough shock impact for me if you do not believe any of what I say, or if you lack the feeling of it all.
I have a sensitive and nostalgic nature, while you have impeccable taste and a drive to be heard.
It's quaking beneath our feet and it seems we're only shoving ourselves in the cracks.
I'm an advocate for us and our success. There comes a time when this either breaks or makes a person. How much can you handle?
You will see this again. We'll feel it, and it'll hurt all over again, and I'll hate it and you'll fight it and we'll try again.
But I've loved you since that year in July, and that sort of thing cannot happen the way that it did again.

"You're all I want. You're all I need. You're everything. Everything. And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you? Would you tell me how could it be any better than this..."





It's in the stars, and it's in the light, it's written on the table, and in your hands and I'll have to remember: there are things that never change and things that always will.

Here I Am Just Writing You

Let me remind you of the time we had...
There is a definite way you have that I would love to hate. And I do. I haven't missed my chances. I have too many left.
I guess that is why I hate the way that you are.
In public, I want to put my hand over your mouth.
You do not raise your voice, go out on rants, or even scare me.
You never jump sentence to sentence.
Your thoughts are so organized and rational, honorable and intelligent, and I hate it.
You can't hear wha tI'm saying. Let's just drive on our way. I'm not screaming at you.
We will have to wait for the weekend. Maybe you'll be excited to see me.
I'm awfully peculiar. I feel I should keep on going. I've got this insane laugh. I want to shut up.
The terrible part of it all is that I meant it.
I mean it all. And I know what I want.
I don't make excuses. I just want to get to know you. I misread you.
Time is money, and I am losing it all. For what reason do you know me?
Isn't this the moment that we are all looking for? I cannot give you anything else.
Only myself.
He's not bashful, and he's red, and he's going back to what he knows. Let's throw things.
What a wonderful opportunity to explain the difference between love and sex; intimacy and intercourse. How tastfully done. I do not look at it as faulty and wrong.
I hate it when you say so. I didn't trust him.
If you need the truth, I'm not aware of myself and the intimacy issues.
Oh, but he tries on his innocence.
You can see the battle between what really is and the tricks.
The trouble are the apologies I say for nothing.
The trouble are your broken glasses.
Just like most XY's do.
The blame is going to be on you, not them.
In the end, he's proud. In the end, he has put alot of thought into it. He's been wishing, and he wishes that he wouldn't.
Could be.
What a romantic way to die. It's just playing out like a melodrama. To be suave and nonchalant.
It isn't true, you just don't care.
God, you hate people, but all you do is watch them.
You're playing a part, but it's you.
He does not see himself. He is so unaware.
In the movies, things just work out.
It just doesn't work out for him.
It just doesn't work out for me.
The glass case is on the floor.
The things you love should be able to be held up and be set in your closet. Let the memories be set aside for later visitations.
I just can't. It's not the way it used to be. He's not the same. He never will be. I want to freeze it, and preserve it, but I can't.
Connect it with us. What great memories we have. We need a meseum. I need a part packed away. I save every picture, every plane ticket, every movie stub, because I want to keep that time forever.
But you can't.
And I can't.
It's my way of losing it.
The problem I have...
It's just another one come and gone.
Your life is being made horrible if you can't be killed?
I want to go on. What a melting pot.
Life being such a blend of you and me, and I've got it, for now.
I won't deny what I have. It's not the lowest of low. It isn't as worse than where we came from. It isn't Angel Islands. I accept you for everything.
You can't go home again. You can't go home again.
You won't ever really come back.
And how much are you going to like that record?
Is it your one genuine intimate moment?
"Life avails, not the having lived." Do not recreate these moments. All we have is the present.
He can't find it.
And I realized it from the moment that I was passing by.
It is the predictability of it. There's something comforting in it. But life isn't.
It isn't going to happen that way. It never will.
But there is something genuine about him, and comforting. It just messes with my reasoning.
(For an atheist, you have an awful lot of religious thoughts.)
What sort of reasoning is that? Everybody is going to go up in one big bang, anyway?
We will all die off: the billions of us are on the same schedule.
And it feels right.
For this one night, I felt you. You could hear me.
I couldn't wait to get you alone.
I know what is going on with us.