Returnivations

It's like I'm sailing in a paper boat.
It's like I'm standing in a glass house full of little, throwable rocks.


It's like I'm curled up on the couch in my own college apartment while the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, my best friend (whom I'm madly in love with but can't find the voice to say so) sleeps in my bed with the door closed.

Everything about myself is suspect. There's this feeling like everything I've become has to change, needs to change. It's like I'm looking in the mirror and the reflection is shaking his head back at me in disbelief.

      I still try too hard.
      I still get crazy with the things I don't know.
      I still need to feel the rush of life against my skin.
      I still live for your approval.
      I still want you.


But because of what I am, because of what I've done, there are no words. Our movie has gone silent. There are things you say you can't hear right now. Things I feel I can't say. And yet there are frustrated outbursts and serrated edge blades that neither of us can seem to hold back. Flashes of anger and hurt that fill the room, shattering the crystals that are only barely holding us together.

...But after almost every fight there's also cautious tender. Somehow after every spit of venom there is a quiet peace. But then there's always another argument. There's always something that reminds. There's always more hurt.

It's a lot like things used to be.
It's a lot like things have been for a long while.

        Except that this time, we both know why.

[Listening to: Living Colour, "Flying"

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