It feels like we're already flying but the air is too thin and we're dying. The clouds all around take us higher, the world far below is on fire. I hold out my hand just to touch you. A reason for being forever. You're just a whisper away.


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Dear Mister Loverboy,

I hate how I see you - as this perfect, unique being that is so flawless; it hurts to look at that face. It hurts to think about this pretty face and dream about it, faking it.

And it hurts even more to lose this image. And I lost it. I feel unsafe now that it is gone. Because if this goes, I don't know why to kneel down and cry. Because now this last "real" reason for feeling this way is destroyed.  Because now I really DO feel like a silly, angry teenager with all this angst inside my belly. 

I can feel everything breaking down inside of me. It's not even heartache as it used to be or as I know it. It's not that type that makes me plan a concept to kill myself. It's not that type that had me fall into despair. It's the feeling that I was wrong. That everything I had imagined about you was an illusion. It's like you died and I have to stay away from your funeral, because nobody knows about this. There is no way to kiss you goodbye. I cannot bid you farewell.

The person that I see now has nothing. The person I see now is not the one I used to draw out of my memory within minutes on the train, in my sleep. This is someone else. And I don't know where to run to now. I am totally lost...!

This might even be a better reason to leave this ugly place.

This is the point where I have nothing left to lose, so thank you. I can skip second guessings now, being pleased by just knowing you. I can skip all that bullshit now. 

I want to go. I want to go. I want to fucking go.

4.4.11 22:52


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