the pains of being of pure at heart.

i could summarize our entire relationship rather quickly, i wanted to leave. i battled the age old question of is it better to face this life alone or to face it as you felt alone with someone else. 

he didn't like my jokes. he hated how i would have sudden whims of wanting to dance under the moon at the beach. my thoughts of spending the day other than sleeping off the hangover were dumb. he would cut me off rather quickly when it came to talking about my passions, about a book i was reading or thoughts i've been mulling over. walking aimlessly downtown was pointless. he has ruined every formal i have taken him to. my simple pleasures of a cup of tea, ice skating at christmas, acoustic remixes of rap songs, or an early morning yoga session were stupid. i was accused of being a slutty groupie when it came to seeing my favorite band perform. 

overtime i learned how to dull myself down. i stopped asking for adventures and quietly accepted that he would never apologize for the walls he punched or the evil things he would call me in his drunken rages. he would hold his love over my head, if only i was more tan, skinnier, or more willing to look the other way when it came to him and other girls. 

it makes me sick to write these things, to see the person i have become. and to also know that even so, i still want him to call, i still expect him to wake up from his hangover one day, realizing what he had lost. it is hard to understand that even though i could deeply love someone, the feelings do not have to be returned. no one ever has to feel the same way i feel about them. you can't make homes out of humans. 

"we come to the ride that reminds me of a spinning top. 
it's turbulent but gives the impression of stillness. 
here we go again, your plaid shirt & the lights bleed into one, 
i am frightened, but the more i scream, the more amused you become. 
i wonder why i fight so hard to hold on, would it be so terrible to let go?
the music overwhelms me as we play the games we know best. 
one after one, you throw the ball to no avail & the oversized panda mocks you. 
the game is rigged, but we insist on continuing. 
no matter how hard you throw, the pins stand. no matter how hurt the pins are, they stay. 
"what's wrong?"
"i don't know." 
the conversation never changes. i yearn for better questions. 
the mirrors are my favorite part. 
you stand before me as the dashing man i know you are, you don't grimace when you see it's me you're sharing cotton candy with. 
you look at the ferris wheel and back at me, expectantly. 
"what's wrong?"
"les raisons sont tous partis." 
"(please stop asking me to risk this.)"

as i turned to go it was clear you didn't care.  (go on and click it).