Sunday, December 19, 2010

Heartache, cleverly disguised as a gift.



The door was open. True, she didn’t exactly open it herself. Her butler opened it for her. His name is Boredom. She said, ‘Boredom, fetch me a plaything.’ He said, ‘Very good ma’am,’ and putting on his white gloves so that the fingerprints would not show he tapped at my heart and I thought he said his name was Love.


It's all the same, isn't it? I don't know what I've ever done to deserve this. I really don't. Not once, not twice, but thrice. It ultimately isn't anyone's fault but mine. I never fail to misread everything. I'm so good at setting myself up for disappointment. I don't know how many lessons I must learn, how many heartaches I have to go through before the fool in me finally disappears. Silly right, thinking someone would catch me.

I don't think anyone actually understands that this isn't what I want, that I'm not like this, that I'm not yearning for some form of instant gratification. That I ignore my head most of the time and follow my heart. My foolish, naive, wishful heart. That my heart is capable of loving and feeling and then aching and breaking because of people like you, you and you.

It's all the same. It leaves a void. It only leaves a void. Am I just too damn easy?

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