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That ring I fell in love with, that you surprised me with one day - I started wearing it again. I love the ring so much, but can't stand the memories it holds. It's the only thing I wear anymore that you ever gave me or that you left behind. I need to pack up your clothes - get them out of my closet and out of my dress, but I've become a professional procrastinator. The sweatshirts of yours in my dresser still smell like you. I inhaled your essence and suddenly felt a feeling of warmth and security. I smiled and sighed. For the first time in a while, I felt okay. And why? Because I smelled an old shirt of yours. How truly pathetic am I . . . . |
I wonder what you would say if you knew I still felt these things and knew about everything I've written? Would you laugh? Would you feel like a complete jerk? Would you tell me to fuck off and get over it? Would you come to your senses and ask for forgiveness? Would you beg for me back? Would you just stare at me, emotionless to my pain - pain you'd caused - and wish I'd shut up? What would you do? As curious as I am, would I really want to know the answer? |
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You know those old ladies who live alone, but have about 10 or more cats and they stay home most of the time? Sometimes I picture myself as that old woman - taking care of animals and being loved unconditionally from them. "I find comfort in being alone, yet I don't want to be lonely." | Someone told me a few months back that even if I didn't want to talk to anyone, that writing down my feelings as if I'm writing a letter to John, that sometimes that's good therapy. Good therapy? Sitting around feeling sad and writing letters to someone who will never read them is supposed to help me? I admit, it has been nice gettings onto paper . . . but it's nothing like having a friend sit there with you while you pour your heart out to them. But then again, I've never been good at sharing my feelings face-to-face with someone. It's not easy for me to let myself be that vulnerable. |
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you drown me i'm lost at sea drowning in waves of pain, happiness tears and love |
the back of my mind your memory seeps through all others and drowns my thoughts. |
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comfort at night Though it's a poor substitution for what once was you, I welcome it into my arms. Atleast I know it will still be there in the morning. |
there is a small part of me that hates you with a passion. I've never wanted to make love to someone and kill them all in the same thought. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you . . . |