Sometimes I wish writing was as fast as blogging. Because I can't actually blog about what I want to blog about. I want to write it down and get it out there--but not really for other people to see.
There are so many things going on. So much. And some of it is good
some of it not so good at all.
some of it is a mixture.
I took a chance.
Against every instinct.
Convinced myself the past
did not dictate my future.
But the best way foresee
is hindsight.
You were there,
Exactly what I needed...
Couldn't have been more perfect.
Which is why I didn't last.
Good enough didn't last.
I should have seen it coming.
Who knew I could be hated this much?
I'll pretend,
put on a mask,
say it doesn't matter.
I may know it's for the best...
I know in reality it's alright...
But at moments, it still stings.
A whirlpool of memories
twist around my mind
as I think about now.
Different people.
Different faces.
Different circumstances.
Same result.
Different pain.
That almost hurts worse.
I wish I could tell you.
I wish you could know.
But...I can't.
That is not a poem. It looks like one. It just sort of came out. Which is probably why you shouldn't read it. Especially because it does not make any sense. But you did. Unless you're just randomly reading the end of this post with no purpose.
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