I’ve been sitting here for the past few weeks thinking about you. Everytime I sit in front of my laptop, I spend the first 20 minutes just … thinking about you. What went wrong, but felt so right – at the time.
I’ve written 1, 2, 3, 4. Four separate posts for you. To read, and misinterpret like the smile on my face and quiver in my lip. But I don’t have the heart to hit “publish,” and I have too much heart to hit “trash”. So they remain drafts in folder and collect dust in my mind, while I sit here and think about you.
I want to tell you things. The things you could never understand because you’re a man and dense and oblivious and withhold information thinking you’re doing nothing wrong when you know damn well what you’re doing except everytime I try to explain, your stupidity dumbfounds me so much I can no longer articulate myself. SEE? I’M DOING IT AGAIN!
I want to tell you you’re selfish. (I was so giving.)
I want to slap you. (I want to slap myself.)
I want to tell you you’re an asshole. (I’m an idiot.)
I want to tell you you’re fucked up. (I allowed it).
I want to explain for the 10th time that I GET IT. (I wish I didn’t).
I want to explain for the 11th time that YOU DON’T GET IT. (I wish you did).
I want to let you know that with the exception of the last time, you manipulated the situation all the other times. (My fault).
I want you to UNDERSTAND. (I want to stop understanding).
I want to tell you it takes two to tango. (I want to stop dancing).
I want to beat on your chest with my tiny fists. (While I cry into your neck because I’m so short.)
But most of all –
I want you I want to stop thinking about you. (No argument there.)