Sometimes it seems as if you feel that you don’t have to fight for me. I waited for you. I was here when you came back. You didn’t have to go back into the dating scene, you didn’t have to try. You merely went with the first girl that was offering to love you. And, since then, you feel like you don’t have to work hard because what could you possibly do that would make me stop loving you? I waited for three years, what would make me give up now?
Yes. What could possibly make me feel so defeated? Perhaps it’s the way I yearn for flowers and chocolates. Or maybe the way I’m dying for you to sweep me off of my feet the way you did in the beginning.
But no. I could live with neither of those things and still be content. So long as you told me how you felt about me. I would never tell you in a million years, but that’s what I want more than anything for my birthday.
I want you to tell me exactly what I mean to you. I desperately hope the answer is a kind one.
I know that I am what I feel,
But I wish that someone could see what is real,
I want my mother to stop and hear my voice,
Perhaps then I would feel like I have a choice.
I’m standing on the edge of this cliff prepared to fall,
Prepared to end everything, though I can’t help but stall.
I’m poised on this ledge, amidst the clouds,
Wanting and hoping that my mother would be proud.
Proud of the whir of my typewriter as it speaks to my peers,
Proud of my strength and my courage throughout all of these years.
When you go from a life of meaning to a life devoid of any legitimate significance, how are you supposed to derive any level of importance?
How are you supposed to survive in a life where nothing matters?
Sometimes I feel as if I left behind an unfinished past life. That feeling that you get when you leave the house and you can’t remember if you left the stove on, or a maybe it was a light. That nagging sense that you forgot something, that something isn’t complete. That’s the sense I get with something else. Something bigger and much more important on a larger scale.
I have unfinished business in a past life, and I don’t know the first thing I should do in regards to finishing it.
Is it wrong to want to exist for a reason? Is it wrong that I wish for the reason to be thrust upon me? Is it wrong that I want my purpose to be embossed upon my face?
I live this life and I walk this Earth as if nothing matters, as if I don’t matter. When did everything begin to diminish and when did I stop mattering?
Perhaps, through the transitive property, if I find something in my life that truly matters, I will then begin to matter.
With my writing, I want to give the people in this world a glimpse into my own. I want my world to change people, just like their world has changed me.
There’s so much good in my life. A kind of good I never thought I would know, so I never thought to expect it. And yet, I can’t help but to be waiting for the bad. I’m looking for it, and i know that isn’t fair. Not to you, or anyone else, least of all myself. But it is far better to seek out the bad when you’re prepared for it, rather than to stumble upon it when you aren’t.
I am a vastly complicated person and he may never fully understand all that there is to understand about me. But, at the very least, I want him to understand that I love him more than anything. Literally anything else in this universe.