It has recently occurred to me as to why I’m feeling the way I feel as of late. Here we go again, another touchy-feely post about my “feeeeeeelings,” all soft and quivering like animal guts left on a highway post being caught off-guard by a speeding white semi.
Not very pretty, and certainly not safe for consumption.
Anyway, point is, I care. I care a lot. When I do things, I do things with the full intention of putting as much effort as I can into it. I do things when I want to, if I need to, and certainly if it matters. And trust, the only things I’ve kept in my life so far are things that matter.
I work work work at a job that slave-drives me to the bone sometimes. It’s mundane, but it helps me pay for gas, food, school supplies. Slowly, I’m trying to find grounds to be able to support myself. On top of that, I know I need to carry my own weight for my shift. So I try my best to show up on time, work to the best of my ability, and put as much effort into what I do as I can. Because I care about my performance, no matter where I am. Even if it definitely isn’t my career of choice, it doesn’t mean I can’t care about it. Certainly doesn’t mean I won’t give as much as I can.
I go to school, and I try really hard to show up to each class. I do the work, I study, I learn the material. I have off days, (of course, who doesn’t?) but I go to school not only because I need to be there, but definitely because I want to be there. I want to be at school. I love to surround myself with the buzz of learning, with the ability to look forward to always learning something new. I care a lot about my performance at school. I care a lot.
And finally, I care about us. The things I do, are the things I want to do. It’s taken me a while to be able to really go for what I want, but I’m learning, and I’m always a work in progress. A constant, constant work in progress. And when it comes to us, I want us to be something. I lied when I said I didn’t care about being a “couple” or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays. Sorry about that. Like I said earlier, I’m a work in progress.
But I do want us to work. And everything I tell you, if I tell you, I tell you as honestly as I will allow and so long as it doesn’t scare you away. But you will go away. I know that as a fact. No one is ever “some guy I fucked” or “that random I kissed.” Those boys have names attached to faces attached to memories attached to feelings.
I’m always feeling. Soft, quivering, and glistening in the goddamn sunlight.
Not saying that there were a lot of boys or whatever. Point is, they come, and they leave. And they always, always, take a piece of me with them. Even if I don’t feel anything remotely close to what I felt when I was with them, I’m still missing a piece, and that piece is just making it’s merry way along with whoever had the darn luck of finding it. And it’s both a sad and sort of happy thing all at once.
I’m glad people are so important to me. I guess whoever comes and decides to stay for a while will definitely feel important. I’ll make them feel important, cared for, needed, loved. Because that’s just the type of person I am.
But those who leave? Maybe it just wasn’t enough, you know? Or maybe it just wasn’t their cup of tea. Too much sugar, not enough cream, too black, bitter, too cold for their liking. I can’t change that, and it’s no use getting upset over it.
The point within the point within the point is, (and I’m really not sure if you’re following me or not by this time, but brownie points if you are) you will leave. And I’m either dragging along this corpse of a relationship with hope that it won’t turn into a zombie and eat me alive, or I’m riding it out for as long as I can before I go careening head-first off of a cliff, depending upon whether you see the glass as half empty or half full. Most of the time it’s full for me, but nights like these change my perspective.
I’ll care more, and you’ll find that you care less, but I can’t help that, and neither can you. And slowly, like a death sentence, time will tick away until it’s over. Sweet talk our way to the guillotine. Heads will roll. But I like you, and like a softly spoken prayer before execution, I will recite that line over and over again: I like you, I like you, I like you, and that will be enough.
At this point, you are something I want and I don’t give a fuck if it will hurt. Because that’s what it is to live, right? To feel, to love, to hurt? I’ll be damned if I don’t live everyday as if it were my last.
Until then, I will care for you. I’ll make you feel important. I’ll give you someone to pillow talk with in the middle of the night. And I can be the one who kisses you in cars. And I’ll always, always mean it when I say I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I really really miss you.