No ranting today, just one streamline post of writing, unedited, for 5 minutes . . . and . . . GO!
Sometimes I still can't believe that he's actually here. We're not doing anything friends or family wouldn't do, just sitting around all day in our separate corners doing separate things. It feels familiar and yet how can it be? This time last year, I had no idea who you were, you were with someone else, probably telling them the same things you've told me. Have you though? Yes, you probably told her you loved her, even though you told me last night that you didn't find her nearly that interesting at all. It still puzzles me how that's so if you were together for years if you've always felt that way. You said it "sucked" because nothing was really wrong, you didn't fight, you're still friends to this day, and yet you said "you wouldn't choose to go back with her". Is that true? Or did you say that to put me at ease? Her pictures are gone from your walls, her letters too, but I still feel her there. Perhaps I'm a little bit paranoid, but I've been hurt too.
Still, you're here. Isn't that what matters? My parents might not like you and your parents might not like me. It's too early to tell where this is going and all your talk of a home together and a life outside of this country frightens me. Still, I should believe. Believe in you, believe in what I feel and what my mind tells me. Not the paranoid heart that still bleeds. I wish I could believe in you fully, I really do. But sometimes when you leave and I sit beside myself, I wonder what possibly could you see in me? I'm not very interesting either or is it that you haven't discovered that yet? What if one day you wake up and realize you still love her or the last one or the one before that? I know that I'd have to deal with it all the same. Tears will ebb and flow but it would be something I'd have to swallow along with the pain. I once told myself I wouldn't do this again. I wouldn't fall, I'd stumble gracefully and steady myself on the rail. I may look young on the outside but inside, I feel my heart growing old and frail. There are people who need me and then there's you. Some days I wonder if I should leave, before things fall apart. You don't really cling to me, you tell me some days that you'll be fine without me. But when I turn around, I catch your eyes and you tell me you love me, how thankful you are to have me. Which is truth and which is tale? Perhaps I've just gotten too afraid to fail.