so you've buried all your lovers clothes
and burned the letters lover wrote
but it doesn't make it any better
does it make it any better?
and the plaster dented from your fist
in the hall where you had your first kiss
reminds you that the memories will fade.
Maybe we grew up and grew out of eachother, maybe it wasn't meant to be, maybe all the other factors were too much or maybe the odds were too great. I'm not really sure where we fall, how it ended up like this and why I'm alone crying myself past the point of being conscious. I've never felt this let down before, this disappointed or this disillusioned. False hope and empty promises could never get us too far, and I let myself get built up only be to let down. Maybe I should have never abandoned my cynical ways, maybe I shouldn't have believed everything you said, maybe I should have never trusted you, maybe I should have known better all along. I can say maybe, I can say what if, I can want things to be different but I can't change this reality.
What I do know is that I gave this my all. More than my all, and probably more than you'll ever really understand. I know you did this to me, and now I'm stuck trying to pick up pieces of the past four years and seeing where they fit in my life now. I know I'm broken, and the sad thing is you're the only one who could really fix anything.
But I don't think you can actually fix anything at all.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.