he said: "contrary to popular belief, you did not fall in love with me that evening. you were full of wanting, but not for me. you lusted for the idea of loving someone. and because i was there, and because i was beautiful, you directed all your wanting on me."
your rebuttle?
there is no debate nor cause for argument. i did not fall in love with you on that evening in between the ripped and bloody curtains. i was full of wanting. the idea of loving you was romantic because you were full of loving. but not for me.
oh, but didn't i like you? weren't you my blues through late december and early january? and i was in desperate need of a cure for starry-eyed wishes to be yours. i don't know what to do with all of this.
i don't know what to make of my heart anymore. i don't why i have it, when i've barely ever been able to put it to good use. when i can barely explain that i matter enough to have one.
"that's not what i said, that's not what i⸺"
yes, i know. i have no one to blame and that's why i've kept the idea of you around. and i just can't seem to shake the notion, can't shake the thought that i am never going to recover.
