Chaotic Bisexual

Some questions haunt the narrative of your life. This one might just be mine. I wish I knew the answer, maybe then it would hurt less.

I want love, I want safety and I want to give myself. Taking was never something I was ever good at. I see people all around me, finding it easy, and finding it in multiple people. The love and the moments that I've only ever held in dreams.

I want to be chosen for once, I want somebody who choses me, against all odds, against fate if necessary. Because that is how I love. My love is all consuming and I belive that my conviction is stronger than fate.

So again I ask the questions that I hate to have to ask. I ask whether he would reach out again. I ask if he would chose me again after knowing what little he knows of me. Was that enough to make a decision?

He won't. I think I know it too. But knowing dosen't make it easy and the hope inside me dosent like reason. I should stop checking. I should try to crush the dwindelling hope inside of me. But what am I if not a dreamer?

Sometimes I hate being the poet, the write. Because I know that it's my job to be the fighter, to win against all odds for the person I want. I know that the depth of my want and love is sacred and I dream of the day I become the muse. I hoped that it was today, even if it was for a while, even if it wasn't mine to keep.

I wish I could. I wish I knew if my question means anything. Does the answer change my fate? Is that why I was never meant to learn the language of the stars? Is that why I think the way I do? Would it be the same if I had all the answers?

So what happpens now? I try to convice myself that this isn't something that I want. It is unbecoming of me. But is it really unbeacoming if it is something that comes from my very being?

He has a black shirt on, the sleeves are rolled up, I have the knowledge of a mouth that isn't mine and he's looking at me as if to memorise the shape of my smile.

But he is not mine, has no possibility of being. It would take hurting people for it to be true. If so then I don't want it. Me being the cause of anguish is not in the cards and if I get him through the pain then was he ever supposed to be mine in the first place.

I don't know what to do with the vision. I'm not sure it's true, but they usually are. I know which ones are and which ones aren't. I knew my mom was going to die, I knew I was going to be sitting at this table, I know my heart and I know my fate.

People say it must be deja vu, I beg to differ. I know I have seen this before because i have, I've thought about it, dissmissed it even.

I'll let it go, when the time comes, when I can feel his heart slipping through my fingers like sand, when it becomes apparent that this was a flight risk that was never meant to be taken. I won't hold on, but I will hold.

I never thought I would ever feel this way again, never thought I had enough in me to ever want to give myself, but I decorate it now, I make it pretty and I lay it out by the door for him to come pick it up. I hide the black and I hide the broken strings. I hide the blue and I try to remember the colour I used to be if not for it. I do it before he slips away, before the warmth leaves my skin, before I get reminded that this was somebody I lost long ago.

I wish I could've kept her. I wish it wasn't as hard as it has turned out to be. Water and Air aren't that different from eachother but she would've never been the reason for my calm. Opposites attract but we weren't opposites either. We were similar, but not the same.

And that's just it isn't it. I think I feel as much as I do because I could see a bit of myself in her. I could see the child that kept anger close, that wanted to be the storm in a feral viceral way that would've destroyed everything in its part. I chose not to be that but I destroyed anyways.

But it hurts, and it never heals. Maybe I don’t want it to. If it goes away then what do I have left? The phantom pains? The memory of a hurt that I would gladly carry for the rest of my life?

So I keep my finger on it. I keep it from healing. I keep it.

Maybe one day I’ll hold him how I hold the hurt. Maybe one day, my heart would be the one that heals. So I wait, like always. I wait and tell stories of a boy too far. 

I’m supposed to be a poet anyways. The yearning is my muse. What would I be if my heart was purple instead of blue? He likes yellow. I don’t.

Waiting for him might just be one of the the hardest things I ever have to do. I know my ego is not being enough. I know how making the first move is going to be easier for me than it is for him. But I would be betraying everything that has brought me to this point if I did, and it would never be the right time till he becomes sure of himself enough to ask the universe for me, ask me for the love he knows I carry for him.

I'm so tired of fanfic writers making the relationship Jace and Alec have to be something that is damn near insignificant. THEY SHARE THEIR SOUL.

I'm sorry but it's so fucking stupid. I think it has been established that the parabatai bond is sacred and has a different place in a person's life altogether. Loosing one is literall considered one of the worst things that could ever happen to a shadowhunter.

Why do we still feel the need to equate relationships? Do we really need a hierchy to relationships?

I know I was a story to my mother, till the time she became one to me. I know I am a story to everone I have ever known and ever loved and the moment they become one to me is terrifying.

That's the thing about stories. They are always told after something has happened, I fear the moment the people I love becomes something that happened to me instead of something I keep.

I am made of them now. A book I suppose. I sometimes feel like I was never meant to be. I feel like I'm missing pages still, but that's okay, rome was't built in a day and no story was told in a night. So i keep writing, and I turn pages and I wait for the day I become a story.

I wish I was smart enough to figure out that i painted her in my colors too. She used to be golden but her soul has patches of blue now. I put them there and I don't know how to erase it. I wish I hadn't.

She's gone now. She took her shine and decided to find her colors again. Blue isn't one she wants. So I let her go, because every time I touch her I taint her skin with the signs of a life she doesn't want anymore.

I'm still here though, while she's out there, erasing traits of me that lingered.

I lost a piece of myself, she took it with her. I got used to the way she loved and she got used to the pain. I found my world when she was still trying to find the bricks to build hers. I became something that didn't fit in. I didn't help her build hers even though there is nothing more that I would like to do.