Sometimes I take someone’s life, pretend it’s my own and write about it. We all love roleplay, let’s admit it.
So I smiled meekly and said, come. Come and take this life of mine and intrude on my most private thoughts. This life of skipped meals and routine moments. You can take it all and still not have it entirely. I will never understand how that works. It’s still my life and mine to give to you. I’m telling you explicitly. Here, do me a favour. My life. Handle with care.
Here is my day, please don’t be it’s ruination. Find yourself in my thoughts. We all need to be alone. Alone and together. Find a beautiful symmetry and try to abscond it. Hurts, doesn’t it?
Here is the heart you dug your teeth into. I don’t have to part with that. It was yours before we met. So we didn’t have enough time. So we couldn’t resolve those bereft moments. So we said too much and there’s no making sense now.
Here is the part where we will never be good enough. We could resort to accusations, among other things. Here is the spite and the exaggerated rage we never tire of. All the emotional masochism we revel in. A house of cards simply balancing on Love. Hate. And more Love.