The only thing more painful than loving you is the knowledge that no matter how painful it is, I can never stop loving you for even a second.
It’s early Sunday morning and I am lying here curled up with you in the warmth of your bed. The sunlight softly pushes through the cracks in your curtains as you sleepily trace circles on my arm, and I’m watching the dust mites swirl in the rays of light. I realise in these early hours of the morning with you in my arms that those dust mites are us, dancing and twisting around each other before they inevitably hit the floor. Everyone hits the floor in the same way, but every single dusty dance is different. In the end I guess it doesn’t matter when we hit the floor, as long as we have danced our own dusty dance. I could hit the floor tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter, because today I was happy just dustily dancing with you in your bed.
Today three years ago I was slowly becoming obsessed with a magnificent girl
She was funny and smart and beautiful and mysterious and she made everything glorious. But she couldn’t see me. She needed someone to be there for her and I wanted to be that person. But she didn’t want me, she wanted him. I watched her wait for him to care for her and I watched her fall into a pit of despair when he refused to.
Today two years ago I was steadily obsessed with a magnificent girl.
She was funny and smart and beautiful and mysterious and she made everything glorious. And I thought she could see. She was happy and she locked her problems away and they stopped bothering her eventually. I think her problems loved her as much as I did, but I won because finally she loved me back. Or so I thought. There was a third boxer in this match to the teeth. A boxer I had not recognised, a boxer who disguised herself as a referee. Slowly and quickly, before I had time to turn around and enjoy my victory the referee had won and my magnificent prize was whisked away from me.
Today one year ago I was obsessively watching the demise of a magnificent girl.
She was funny and smart and beautiful and mysterious and she made everything glorious. But no one could see. In the end her problems won, because I was not there to defend her. They locked her away and she stopped bothering them eventually. I think in a crazy way she loved them as much as I loved her, and the problems won because she loved them not me.
Today I am no longer obsessed with a magnificent girl.
She is funny and smart and beautiful and mysterious and she makes everything glorious. And everyone can see. I love her and she loves me and that’s all there is to it. I don’t need to care for her, or fight for her, or watch her suffer from afar. I don’t need to be obsessed. She loves me because I care about both of us, together.
Tomorrow and the next day and the next day the magnificent girl is continuously re-writing everything I ever thought I knew about love. And I love her all the more for it.
I lay on my back in the stench of your humidity
The sweat drips through our skin and I rethink my previous decisions
But, with the home-made poison clenched in my fist
I understand the sincerity of those small prepositions.
I had already decided upon our fate
Under stars that burned out at an ancient date
Someone must drink the disaster I was so hasty to create
And I realised all too late
That I could not let that someone be you.
I brought the knife
You brought the lamb
Yet instead I’ll take your life
Just because I can
I feel like real shit, baby
and all because of you.
I feel like ripping throats, baby
and all because of you.
Do you feel the irony, baby
do you, oh do you?
Because I am only ever happy, baby
when it’s because of you.
Seriously, why do you make everything into an argument?
Why can’t you just let me be?
My mum is always talking about her fucked up childhood and how many problems she had.
Then why can’t she see those same problems in her own daughter?