There's this funny unspoken rule of being friends, and how falls apart as soon as theres something more. Burned a bridge and made another, things are odd like that. For some reason or another things ended, but I think that it's the memory of the way it felt that haunts most people. We all seem to use things to make us feel whole, may that be religion, art, people, there's this void that we are born with. And it grows bigger and smaller and sometimes we even forget it's there. I don't know what I fill mine with anymore. Ideas of people perhaps, real life was always too real for my tastes. But then isn't that all too true for everyone. I want to die and I want to be alive. I dream about burning bridges and starting over, wishing that I had been born into a different situation because I am stupidly in love with someone who is only half real. I don't know if I could ever really love the real him outside of my head, maybe it's just an idea with a face. I want to die with all of my being, I want this to be over. The world is beautiful but i've really had enough. I don't want this anymore, any of it. But when it comes to pulling the trigger, I find I cannot.
And I hate myself for it.
Some pitiful Monday morning wishing that I could weave the fabrics of time, to be someone else somewhere else. I find myself wandering around the world without a thought in my mind, only places and people I could have been. With a vague remembrance of the people I've met and people I've been- all blur together in my mind.
I wish I could erase, not the people. But the thoughts and dreams that came along.
They're burned behind my eyes like a drunken tattoo full of regret that I'm forced to stare at every day.
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