shefelt_it_everyday

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

-Excerpt from "If You Forget Me" by Pablo Neruda

I need to tell you the truth. Somehow.

Honestly, 
It got around school
that I didn't like you.
But the truth is that I 
don't know you,
not well enough to know the truth.

I finally figured out why I said those things:

You remind me of him.
I associate you with him.
There are similarities-
on my part, not yours.
But nobody knows about him,
so they don't know where I am coming from.

This is my excuse, even if it is true. I should have just kept my mouth shut and my head down.

How do I apologize? I didn't mean for any of this to happen.

I can't begin to understand the world. I won't try to.

Why do I do this to myself?

Second best and all alone,
sometimes, I think it would be easier
to alienate myself
from the world, the hurt, the pain

I'm tired of the sidelines,
but I don't know how to start playing
I don't know how to be happy
without being everything that I hate

I cry tonight,
but tomorrow I'll be all right.
I trace my wrist,
but tomorrow I will persist.

With each passing day,
I begin to doubt what I know.

How could the world be this cruel?
These atrocities are all-consuming.

I can fight it,I can 
But I can't win.

I can face it, I can
But I can't accept it.

I will not believe, I refuse to believe
That this is life and this it is how it ends.

I can't take it,
and I definitely cannot handle it.

From the first pitch at the baseball game,
sitting side-by-side on a picnic blanket,
to calling up the number in my phone and joking around
From the hug at prom, having me spin
and telling my that I look gorgeous, 
to calling my name across the room,
only to say that you did better than me.

It says "happy birthday beautiful"
On my wall, but my wall can't take the punches

I don't even know where I stand.
I don't know who we are.
I just want a friend.
I just want to fit in.

She's got two flowers in her hair:

There's a forest that divides us,
a field that connects us,
a hill that unites us, and 
a secret that keeps us

A story that replays in my head-
It tells of two flowers-one that thinks 
and one that acts; one that's breaking
and blooming; one that's aching and wiltinig

I don't know which one to be,
or which one to see;
They're just behind her ear,
and it all began...

She's got two flowers in her hair-
one a daisy, one a rose.

It's all getting to be too much. When can I focus on me?