Instead of writing, we should talk. I am so angry. So so angry. On the one hand, you say that I deserve people who support me and who love me. You tell me that I am beautiful and unique and something special. But on the other hand, you are not interested at all. And maybe it is true after all. Maybe you don’t care, and it doesn’t matter. And maybe I am being manipulated with all your shiny songwriter words. And I hate you for it. But I hate myself even more. Because I allow it. And I crave it. I need you. I need your love and attention. I need you at the periphery of my life to grow and be fearless.
It is irritating that you are a driving force and the one who holds me back.
What did today bring? Nothing. Only the realisation that maybe it is best for me to hold on to the last pieces of me that don’t belong to you yet. And then I think about it, and I realise that I am all yours and that I don’t belong to myself anymore anyway.
Am I scared? No. Just tired of these repeating thoughts. Thoughts in circles.
I want to tell you to fuck off. But with my next breath, I want to ask how you are and if it is okay for me to love you just a little bit.
Because, in the end, I know all of you. The good and the bad. I am a safe place. Maybe you know that, maybe it doesn’t matter. Who cares? Not you! It’s not important.
What a difference a day makes. Let me sleep tonight.