Who are you to judge the life I live? I know I’m not perfect -and I don’t live to be- but before you start pointing fingers… make sure you hands are clean!
I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil. I am just a small girl in a big world trying to find someone to love.
I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they’re here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It’s like looking at all the students and wondering who’s had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report due on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why.
Once upon a time there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. And they grew next to each other. And every day the straight tree would look at the crooked tree and he would say, ‘You’re crooked. You’ve always been crooked and you’ll continue to be crooked. But look at me! Look at me!’ said the straight tree. He said, ‘I’m tall and I’m straight.’ And then one day the lumberjacks came into the forest and looked around, and the manager in charge said, ‘Cut all the straight trees.’ And that crooked tree is still there to this day, growing strong and growing strange.
The thing about on/off relationships is… They’re great until they’re not, they’re the things of dreams, until, suddenly, you’re living a nightmare. They’re the perfect song, on a broken record. They’re a great book, possibly the greatest, but with key chapters missing. They’re breakfast in bed on a powder blue morning, and then days in bed, without eating. They’re breakups that you don’t know how to mourn, because you can’t fathom that this one, this is the last.
They’re drunk break-up sex and drunk make-up texts at 3am. They’re feeling cheated and feeling guilty. They’re feeling loved, they’re feeling special.
They’re intoxicating. Because you keep making the same mistakes, over and over again, because you keep falling into the same pattern. They’re familiar and safe, and like a home you come back to - no matter where, or how broken - it’s a home no less; they know you and you know them.
But see, the thing is, after a while, you no longer hear the music on the broken record - you just hear silence; and you no longer care about the characters, you just want the book to end. Every off, every break chips away.
At some point you realize that love should be more than drunk-3am-s that make you afraid that life will never be that perfect again. At some point you no longer want love to be a roller coaster.
Or so I’ve heard. I hope it’s true. But right now, if you called and asked me to - I’d go back, I’d do it all over again.
Because of you I don’t know how to let anyone else in.