2:24 pm - June 30, 2005
I'm listening to Damien Rice while I have my breakdown and you should too. Older Chests.
I hate the way with love comes fear. That sometimes you can suddenly be stricken with the thought that you really don't know someone at all. That one day you notice they don't say "I love you" back.
That if you asked about it, if anything was wrong, they'd say, "Are you crazy? Why are you nagging me?" So you don't say anything. But you know that something's off. Wrong.
And you have concert tickets. And plans to go away with friends for the weekend and all you feel is dread about what happens when you get back.
Because pod-people are no fun to go on vacation with.
And you wonder, if maybe, maybe the imaginary him that asked you if you were crazy was right. Maybe this is all in your imagination, and there before you stands a loving, perplexed man who has never wavered in his affection and love for you.
And you just want to go back home, home to your childhood bedroom, huddle under the comforter and imagine that this was all a dream. Stop time, reverse time. Take you back to not being hurt and confused. Not knowing that it's inevitable that people leave you. We're all trains, stopped for different times next to each other. But they all leave eventually.
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