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Monday, November 30, 2009


Oh, you.
You, you, you

have got a hell of a sense of humor.
Just when I finally pull myself together enough to accept the hopelessness of the situation and move on, you look at me like you did with eyes like you have, and I'm right back at the bottom.

They don't understand. Hell, not even you understand, D.
They tell me to take risks. How can I gamble when all I've got left is the bus ticket home and the clothes on my back?

Because, if I'm being perfectly honest, I am afraid of living, but I'm more afraid of you. Not of the rejection I get from you constantly, not of the abuse I take day after day, but of you. Just you.
Because, see, you, you, you

could kill me with a twitch of your eye brows. You almost gave me a heart attack that time you looked right at me and gave me that hand heart. Honest. I could have dropped dead right then and there.

No amount of failed relationships, no amount of successful relationships, no amount of therapy, no amount of time could ever fix what you broke.
You captured me, got my heart hooked like a doomed fish, and reeled it in, letting me flail about and suffocate on the ground. There's no use in saying "give me my heart back, you bastard" now that's it's already dead.

Baby, I don't know what I am, I don't know what we are, but if we're not star crossed soul mates, we're damn close.

Then again, I also know you're not listening, but that's okay, because I am. I always am.
ily
~Belinda

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