Life’s not like the movies

YOU DESTROY YOURSELF

when you continuously avert yourself from the things that make you happy and the people whose attention you ache for

and then you hurt
and cry for unconscious reasons
yet believing this was better—
denying the pain and burying it alive;
and believing it won’t ever find a way to get back to you.

I’m pretty certain that that is how girls’ logic functions—just what makes it so difficult for guys to see through them. Why do girls have this disposition to create a blur in everything and expect people to magically decipher the seemingly unknown?

Some things are too difficult to comprehend.

(The same way I cannot comprehend why I got trapped into this girl’s body)

Well in any case, it stings. It stings that you don’t tell me things. You don’t do anything and I’m somehow convinced that this is going to look like a contest. At least in my perspective. And though it seemed like a tie, I’d render you victorious. Because deep within, I still give a damn, a useless damn. But any way I look at it, making it manifest isn’t enough to keep things going, if that was actually the case here. Is something happening by the way?

Or is it me, myself and I?

Fuck you, why are you like that? And screw me, why am I like this? I feel like I have the lower hand in this maybe nonexistent story. Because I’m reading and hoping and waiting and sulking—perpetually stuck in this labyrinth of feelings. And completely perplexed about what you mean to me. And I to you. Which is may be a nonexistent case.

I’m emotionally paralyzed. I literally ran away from the feelings believing I’d forget, true enough, that only lasted for a few weeks.

Running away did not submerge the feelings, but not seeing you helped prevent my deterioration.

It’s kinda sad that I always end up making decisions that lead to my anticipated terminal though—to that ever existing limbo.

I continue hoping nonetheless, despite running away. And the reason? I don’t know either. Maybe it’s the belief in the back of my head that if I pull away from that same path, things would be different. And if by any chance it still hurt, maybe this time, the pain would be less—because it was suppressed from growing which I presumably thought would make it worse.

There’s always that one thing I’m sure of notwithstanding.

THIS
It would never be a happy ending.

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