Hopefully.
Eventually I will learn that I can’t love you anymore like this.
That we’ll never really be what we try to pretend we are every other month.
I think that with how many times you’ve told me that I should have come to this conclusion by now…
I think I honestly came to it a long time ago. And quite possibly many times in between.
Believing it is the tricky part.
What is this weird little invisible string that connects us?
Some call it Love.
Some call it manipulation
Some call it desperation.
I call it retardation. Among other things of course.
Who fucking cares what it’s called. It’s impossible to sever without severe brain damage and a discrete yet overwhelming sense of utter chaos and loss of limb. Not literally, obviously. Unless I happen to be one of those people that believe that my emotion is as much of my physical body as my pinky toe.
I however do not.
I cannot control it as well as my digits and it definitely doesn’t wiggle.
I would say it more or less spasms.
I think you would agree.
