This red thread is about to break.

If you say you don't believe in love, fuck you. Because you are essentially saying I will never be able to fall in love. There is no such thing as "lust" for me. That doesn't apply to me. That isn't what I can feel. I do not feel sexual attraction towards anyone. And you're going to sit there and tell me that love does not exist, that I am going to be forever left alone, that the only option I have is lust?

Fuck you.

This is not a matter of opinion. This is a matter of personal pride, that I have to defend myself and others like me against views like this. Because you are basically denying me the right to feel. You are degrading me and my feelings and you are dumping me in the gutter, saying I am not even human because all I am supposed to have is lust, something I can't feel.

Fuck you.

The radio told me I am redefining love.  Good. Because obviously it needs to be redefine. I understand that love can do terrible things and I understand that love doesn't save you and I understand that lust is a thing people mistake with love. But the fact of the matter is, love exists. You can not deny the existence of something just because you have never seen a positive outcome of it. There are things love can't save you from, things like anger and depression. I have seen people who are so in love with each other, but it didn't save them. That's not what love is supposed to do. It isn't supposed to be easy.

Love is hard.

It isn't eternal, it isn't forever, it changes. Like any feeling. You think you're happy and that you couldn't be happier, and then sometime later you'll feel something strong and you have to keep calling it happy, even if it isn't the same. Words are imperfect and so is love. How the hell do you define love? How the hell are you supposed to take this feeling that is so encompassing and so complicated and pin some pathetic little four-letter word like "love" on it and point to it and say, "That's it."

Because that's not what love is.

So don't you dare go telling me that something like that doesn't exist, because if I can't believe in love I can't believe in anything other than lust. And I've got no hope of ever experiencing any relationships if I can't have love.

And I'm sorry, but I don't think I could handle being that hopeless.

nobara no hanayomeGood

Somebody call the police before they harm themselves.

"Promise you won't say anything? If you say anything but 'okay' I feel like we're just going to put distance between us. So don't say anything. I care about you so much because I'm still in love with you." ― Murder victim. (J.F. Alexander) *

How am I supposed to stay silent when you say something like that? Especially when you know that I felt the same way, once. But you won't let anything happen. You're the worst. You hold me at arms length because I'm one of the only people who's ever managed to hurt you. And you just can't handle that, can you? You can't stand being vulnerable.

"It's been over a year and I'm still not over you. You'd think I would be by now. But you're just... everything I've ever wanted. I can't explain it. I mean, I should be able to explain why, but I can't. You're pretty much perfect. I love you." ― Not yet mentioned. (B.S. Anthony)

We're best friends. You know I love you, but I know it's not the same way. I hate that I can see this eating you up inside. I hate that I can't do anything about it. I see how sad you are every day and I know that there's nothing I can do to make it better. And I feel bad, because I can't just give you back your feelings; can't just stamp 'Return to sender' on your heart that you've left with me. I wish I could.

"I know I was supposed to be paying attention to her, because she was in the foreground. But I never was. I was always paying attention to the background, because that's where you were. And you were always prettier. I was never in love with her. Always you." ― Summer. (I.H. David) **

You don't know how happy this made me. You'll never know, will you? You, with your fiery hair and your impulsive actions that have nearly gotten you killed more than once. You left and I'll never forgive you, because you still have my damn heart. I haven't managed to get it back. You've ruined me. You've left me broken, with missing pieces. How could you? I really want to be whole again, for someone else.

"You're amazing and brilliant. And you've saved me from some of my darkest days. Saved my life. I'll always be biased towards you for that. And I'd marry you in a heartbeat. You're my best friend." ― Boy. (M.H. Aaron) ***

I've saved you? Where are you now, then? When I'm sinking so fast, it's only a matter of time before I drown. Where are you? Not here. I'm your savior and you can't even be bothered to say goodbye? I'm worth that little to you? I'll always hate you for that.

I'm so damn sick of love. I'm so fucking sick of it.

I would say rip my heart out and take it away, 

but I'm afraid that's already been done, 

my dear.

* Post 1, Post 2

** Post 1, Post 2, Post 3

*** Post 1, Post 2, Post 3

The little things are what make you awfully interesting.

The Moon has always been my kind of guy.
He's a bit far away. There's that expanse of space, where it's just a vacuum. It sucks away at everything, except for his light, and it makes the distance okay.

Then I remember, maybe the Moon isn't my kind of guy, since his light isn't his own.

He steals from the Sun, who was never really my type. He was always too bright and hot.
Then I took another look, and I couldn't get enough of him. My eyes are damaged now from staring in longing at his too-bright face. The Sun is even further away than the Moon, however, and that's a distance I've come to loathe.

It makes me self-conscious.

What if there's no way for us to cross that distance?
What if one day the Sun remembers that iron is what will kill him and that I'm made up of 0.0004% iron?
What if he realizes that for me to live, a star had to die?
What if that star was his old lover?
What if he loved that star more than he's ever loved me?

Maybe I've over-estimated my ability to cross space with my Sun.
Maybe he could never forgive me for being a star killer.
Maybe I haven't spent enough time at space camp.
Maybe the Earth is too pretty for me to compete with.
Maybe there's just no way someone so bright could love someone as dim as me.

And before I knew it, my Sun was gone, taking all my worries away with him.
And I was left with just the Moon.

I guess 0.0004% was just too much iron for him to handle.

I ain't even playing my own game.

I'm a murderer.
Who did you murder?

Him and me.

And yes, he was my obscure "You".

I'll never forgive myself for giving into the cliche and writing about "You" and I'll never forgive Nelson for giving me the idea to do so.

But mostly I'll never forgive myself for killing him and me.

No one will ever understand why I did it. But I guess that's the case will all murders.

It has nothing to do with the other hims and everything to do with me.

It has nothing to do with my love going away, because that's not how love works. It doesn't die. Love is the only eternal thing, ever. That's why people forget that Romeo and Juliet is supposed to be a tragedy. Because sadness isn't eternal, but love is. And no matter the shallowness of your love, you'll always remember it.

But I had to do it, so I did.

Don't say you're sorry, because I knew it would hurt.

I knew it would hurt to kill him and me, me and him, but I did it anyway.

Now he is gone and we are dead, but in all the wrong ways.

Now I can bite my fingernails, because I'm not growing them out for him anymore. So I do, so short my fingers bleed. I can stop eating, because he's not around to worry about me anymore. So I do, and my food goes in the trash when no one is looking. I can kiss someone, because I don't have to be there for him. But I don't.

I still don't know why that is.

Maybe it's because I'm still in mourning over the death of us.

Does a murderer normally mourn the death of her victims?

Probably not.

Guess I'm just not a typical killer.

She never was the best at following the trends.

Once there was a boy who told a girl her eyes were beautiful.
He described the color of them as if they were such perfection, no one could ignore them.
Believing the boy, the girl always told everyone the color of her eyes as he had told her. She became entrapped with her own irises, always becoming excited when she saw what he saw.
Then one day the boy left and never returned.
Now the girl, when she has the confidence to meet her own gaze, wonders how he ever called her eyes beautiful.
"All I see is plain brown," she thinks. "Two pools of dead mud."
Her best feature has been stolen, and her beauty is gone.

Once there was a boy who gave a girl the music of the world.
He shared with her a kind of magic only tunes can carry, giving her the notes to their spontaneity.  He'd play his guitar and she her violin, and together they'd laugh and mess up notes, but be happy because they were writing things no one else could. They were making their own tunes, making their own magic.
Then one day the boy left and never returned.
Now the girl sits alone, missing the sound of his guitar and his songs.
She forgets how to make notes the way they did, forgets her magic, and her violin rusts away.
Her music has become rotted, and her talent is gone.

Once there was a boy who said he loved a girl.
But one day the boy left and never returned.
Now the girl wonders if he ever really meant it.

Once there was a girl who didn't cry.
She used to sleep, and now she walks through the night. She used to dream, but now her dreams have become nightmares.
She used to believe she loved a boy.
Then one day the boy left and never returned.
Now she has an emptiness that no one seems capable of filling. It's a void she can pretend isn't there, one that she wishes were gone.
But in the quiet, when everyone is gone, she wonders.

"Where'd you go?" she asks.

"Somewhere you can't follow," Silence answers.

Beating hearts, like two drums in the gray.

This is dangerous.
Thinking, I mean.
About you.
Thinking about you like you're the only one.
Like I maybe love you.
Like there's no way that I don't.
It's dangerous because I'm young. I'm young and I'm stupid and I couldn't possibly love you this much.
Could I?
And let's not mention the other one. The one that I'm constantly trying to forget.
I don't want to think of him. Get out of here. Out of my head.
I only want you. Just you. That's what I want to believe. But my heart lies.
And my brain thinks.

Thinks.

                              Thinks.

Thinks.

I think about you like Reckless thinks about Forbidden.
Like Lust thinks about Desire.
Like Love thinks....
"I want you."

Oh no. No, no, no. I'm so young.
I can't want you this much.
I can't.

Can't.

                             Can't.

Can't.

I say that. I think that.
Think about that like cuts think about scabs.
Like my scabs think of bleeding every time I pick at them.
Like I think, "Gross."
But the thoughts creep in. Of you. And him.
If you please, would you leave? If you wouldn't mind, could you remove yourself?
My heart can't take this.
Is it possible to be consumed by one person?
And think of them constantly?
Like Life thinks about dying.
Like Death thinks about living.

Lately it hurts to say, "I love you."
Why does it hurt, when I know it's true?
I know I love you.
Real love you.
You've made me cry. You've made me laugh.
There's no way I don't love you, not with all that.
Maybe I just miss him too much.
I can't do that to you, no, never again. You'd be too broken. You'd be too lost.

I've already broken you once.

Besides, who would want me after that? After they know what I've done? What I'm doing?
I'm a hopeless wreck.
A burnt up car on the side of the road flipped over with the guts spilling out.
And no one is dialing 9-1-1.

You say I've changed you.
You've no idea how much you've changed me.
I'm dependent on you.
"How do you always know just what to say?" I ask.
"You might fall apart if I didn't," you say.
My soul aches with the truth of that.

I'm frightened of you.
Of being with you.
Of being yours.

How can I give myself completely over to someone when I've barely started figuring out who I am?

I'm a burnt up car on the side of the road, flipped over with the guts spilling out and no survivors.

"Don't bother calling 9-1-1. Everyone's already dead."

Run away before I think of you and you die, too.

I never meant to block your sunshine.

When you're in that city with those lights and you stand in the crowd and close your eyes and you can hear all the noises and all those people, when you start to feel the people living and breathing and moving around you, you begin to hear that silence. The silence beneath the city that comes from being alive and where whispers are held and secret gardens are quiet.

That is a kind of love.

When you're left broken and weeping on the floor with the mess they've left you, when they've beaten you down and you're picking up the pieces they made of yourself, when you start to realize it was for the best, that you didn't need all those bad things, you begin to remember. To remember the good times and you feel the littlest bit ashamed that you could want someone that badly, that even after all the bad things, you almost wish you could have them back just so you could have the good.

That is a kind of love.

When you're sharing a secret with yourself so large and big it eats away at your insides, but you keep it, this secret because you know if you share it, it would reveal a web of lies and deceit five years deep, and you'd lose her, him, her, him, them and that scares you more than anything else in the world. Scares you so much you hang on the thinnest threads of trust you've managed to forge over the lies and cry when even without the truth, they walk away.

That is a kind of love.

When you're sitting up at two in the morning talking to that person who makes you feel like you're flying and nothing could ever be above you and you're sipping at that drink they've gotten you and you're laughing at their stupid jokes and telling them to shut up when they say something that tugs at your insides and insecurities, but the right way, the way that makes you blush because it's something you've always secretly wanted to hear but didn't ever dare hope for. They make you smile so much your face hurts, the way no one has ever made you smile and you try to fight it because you're young and you couldn't possibly care about someone so much it hurts.

That is a kind of love.

When you're listening to your favorite song and close your eyes and forget the lyrics and just listen to the base music, the minimum of the song, the instruments and the tune and the melody, harmony, you're listening and you've never heard it this way before and your heart swells and a smile crosses your lips because you've found something new it something you thought you knew better than anything else. You discover it inside it, this new thing, and you want to almost keep it to yourself because it's so precious and it's yours, your favorite.

That is a kind of love.

When you mix all these things up together inside yourself and get a dirty, broken mess, a thing that is wholly and completely you, individually with parts that you yourself and others have made together with all these different kinds of love, all the pieces come together in this jumbled thing that's your life, you start to think about some of the negative things and forget some of the positives, and maybe even start to dislike or hate yourself a teeny bit. But then something happens, something your hate didn't count on; you start to remember and suddenly, you might start to like yourself a bit. Maybe even love.

That is a kind of love.

And soon, you realize, your life is love.
You are love.

Everything is just love.