“What came first - the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music? Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?”—Nick Hornby, High Fidelity (via reinventthesea) (via arianesantos)
Why is it so damn easy for me to read into things? Why is it so hard to let go yet so easy to fall back into it? It seems like all you have to do is breathe a little too close, and I’m back to where I started.
I should have been more careful because now I can’t get out of it. I should have read the fine print.
“I’ve tried to educate your childish heart. I made your bed and I was in it when your faith was dead. Poor donee, what are you gonna try to be? Where are you gonna go without me now? I’ve been your mother, I’ve been your father. Who can ask me for more? I’ve been your sister, I’ve been your mistress, maybe I was your whore. Who can ask me for more?”—
“You had me. You had me 3 months ago and you left. It has nothing to do with me, it’s about you, and it’s always about you. What you need and what you want. You know it seems that you only want me when you cant have me Cohen, you like the chase and that’s all, so you know what, you can have it.”
“Because you’re looking for a date, not love. Because you’re more interested in who you go to bed with than who you wake up next to. Because you tick boxes in your head instead of crossing lines in your heart.”—
“I’m not fucking blind to the way that you talk around the truth; not just what you say but what you do. Played this tug of war way too fucking long. Like every time, again I’ve lost, you’ve won. You took advantage of the trust that I gave. Took my forgiveness, rubbed it back in my face. Reaching for words but there’s nothing to say. I’m left to wonder, will this ever be the same?”—
I’ve been holding my breath. I’ve put in the time. I’ve been waiting.
I dig and I search endlessly trying to find anything and everything about you; the good, the bad and the absolute worst. I thought that if I can love you in the end, with all that I know and all that you’ve put me through, it would not have been in vain. Like it meant that this was true somehow. I’ve found things that stopped me cold, and I’m still here. But for what? Sometimes I forget the artful way you’ve mislead me. Here or not, it doesn’t matter. You don’t want me. But I’m still waiting here.