I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.
It starts with a shot of tequila.
Continues with lying in bed, playing a game
of Q&A with myself.
Was it still love if it went bad? (Who cares.
If you wouldn’t drink expired milk, stop hoarding
a love that’s way out of date.
Your neighbors can smell it and you’ll start
to get sick.)
What is he doing right now? (It’s not important)
Should I call him? (No) Text him maybe? (No)
Write a letter? (You know the answer)
Stand on his doorstep until he comes out?
(This is what I mean by getting sick)
What went wrong? Why did he change his mind?
(Expired milk. Remember. It’s no good for you.)
Should I apologize? Tell him I’m so—so sorry?
Say I promise to be better this time? I promise—
(Why are you sorry? When were you bad to him?
Sometimes we want someone back so badly,
we’re willing to make up mistakes
we never made in hopes they’ll say ‘okay, okay,
I forgive you. We can try again.’
This isn’t the case. You don’t want to try again.
One day you’ll understand that, just not today.)
I want to open a really angry coffee shop called “I’m Not a Morning Person” and name all the drinks really angrily
like “can I get a Fuck You” or a “I’m Studying for Finals” or “My In-Laws are in Town”
and they all have shots of tequila in them
who wants to be my business partner
- Person: How are you feeling today?
- Virginia Woolf: Again, my mind vibrates uncomfortably as it always does. Actually, I am overwhelmed with things I ought to have written about and never found the proper words. I do not let myself think. This is a fact. I cannot face much of the meaning. Shut my mind to anything but work and bowls. And I wonder as I let the month run through my fingers: Can I get out of it? Out of it all? Truth is, I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin. (Isn't it all dust and ashes?) I am impressed by the transitoriness of human life to such an extent that I am often saying a farewell…and my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes; In fact, I'm in the mood to dissolve into the sky brb