3.28.2010

Lab Convos.

I don't know why it's so easy to talk to you... like I can tell you everything. It's so easy to open up, to share my darkest thoughts and feelings. Why is it so? Why can't I let you go? There's a lot of things I really don't like about you. But when we talk, those things don't seem to matter. Your gravity is pulling me back in... again. I am lost... again.

Doctor, what should I do?

_______________


"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."

“I try to talk to you, but I don't know what to say. I am afraid you don't want me to say anything. So I don't. But inside of me there are words waiting to come out.And tell you how I feel-like how I miss you. And how I love you despite my broken heart.And how I need you in my life. And especially how much I want you.But those words may forever stay in my heart-locked inside.Sometimes I wonder if there are words locked inside you too... but I'll never know.”


“'You'll get over it...' It's the clichés that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don't get over it because 'it' is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not erased by anyone but death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no one else can fit. Why would I want them to?”


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