truth's a menace

If I don’t make you happy, I want you to go. If you don’t get the biggest feeling of relief when my name comes up on your screen, I want you to go. If arguing with me and thinking about even a chance of losing me doesn’t fuck up your breathing pattern, then I want you to go. If there’s the slightest bit of doubt that I’m the one for you, I want you to fucking go. If waking up to missed calls from me because you’ve ignored me the night before doesn’t make you feel the lowest you felt, then I want you to go. If I take up too much of your time and you don’t feel like you’re doing the things you want to, then I want you to go. If the thought of my skin touching someone else’s and my voice saying another name doesn’t make you clench your teeth and fill with resentment, I want you to go. If you’ve said sorry so many times that even your subconscious knows, I want you to go. If the only time you ever say you’re in love with me is either when my clothes are off or I tell you I want to leave, I want you to go. If you can look at me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t fuck her, I want you to please go. If you’re physically capable of letting me stay up all night and wait for you while you go and do something that you know will make me feel less of myself then I want you to go.

“Romantic obsession is my first language. I live in a world of fantasies, infatuations and love poems. Sometimes I wonder if the yearning I’ve felt for others was more of a yearning for yearning itself. I’ve pined insatiably and repeatedly: for strangers, new lovers, unrequited flames. While the subjects changed, that feeling always remained. Perhaps, then, I have not been so infatuated with the people themselves, but with the act of longing.”

depression: hey