She won’t let me hide
She don’t want me to cry

Will she keep on the ground, trying to ground me
Slowly forgive my lie, lying to save me
Could she love me again, or will she hate me
Prob’ly not, I know why, she can’t explain me

Did she call my name?
I think it’s gonna rain
When I die

She checks on me, on days when I don’t seem like myself. She keeps on the ground, trying to ground me in who I am. I haven’t lied so there’s nothing to forgive.

Could she love me?

Will she hate me?

Honestly, some days I hope she hates me, I hope we reach the point in our relationship where she hates me, because her hating me would be easier than her loving me. Someone hating you makes it easier to let go of what you see, or what you think could be.

Other days I think she could love me, I think she should love me. Some days I think her love would save my life, it’s the love I deserve, the love I want.

I don’t think anyone could ever explain me, because I can’t explain myself. Days like today make me feel like a walking contradiction, she’s great, she’s the light you look for in the world. Unfortunately I don’t feel the same way about myself, there are times where I feel like I’m the darkness in the world.

She’s everything good and I’m everything bad. I want her to hate me because if she loves me I’ll love her back, and there’s probably someone out there who could love her better than I could. Not more, but better.

Am I really everything bad? I hope not. I try to be good, but sometimes it feels like I can’t outrun the pain, and the pain makes me a version of myself I wish I wasn’t.

Is she really everything good? I hope so. Her beauty is like no other, breath-taking, she’s honest, means well in a world full of people that don’t. Seems to love fully, to love hard, I can relate to that.

Trauma makes you push people away when all you want is love.

I think I’m beginning to stop believing.

All you need is chemistry and timing to believe again,

Timing can be a real bitch though

I think it’s gonna rain, when I die.

Where the skies are gold not gray,

J.

Who thought almost a year ago I’d have written 190 of these damn things. 10 to go.