I fucking HATE you.
I have promised to write a poem about a girl I know for a long time. She insists that I do. Truth is, I can’t do her justice. I wish I could paint words on a page as beautiful as you, and tell you everything about all the things that we could do, together. Something inside of me goes blank every time I sit down to write it. Nothing comes out. So this is a dedication, an acceptance of brilliance – You are everything you set out to be. You brighten the day. You make me smile. You are mine and it’s cool if you feel like I should share. I know sometimes I feel I should share, and that makes us both sad. We can be sad together, you and I, because I feel like we walked a thousand cobbled hot coals to be together, even when we weren’t together, still…close. There’s something in this music, come deeper into this dream. For a long time coming, I’m not disappointed, you are alive and you’re wonderful. We disagree but don’t we all? She would tell you how amazing some things are that don’t even leave a mark in other people’s minds and that’s her business, her personal business, sit down if you don’t believe it, because her business…always the right business. The most ridiculous of ideas could grab her by the hand and run her into reality, forming plans and creating wonderful, beautiful scenes of ‘what might have been’s and ‘almost definitely’s. She stays inside most days when I’m not around, but that’s cool because often, I’m around. She would fly across the world to sit for a few hours with me, just like any friend should – I would fly across the galaxy to be near you, if only I could. I don’t ask, you just do. I never wanted half of the things I now have and I have half as much as what I needed. You hide away from who you are but again that’s cool – we should be able to hide when we need to. I have handfuls of your hair that just seems to get everywhere even if I only see you for a moment, or pass you in the street. We never pass in the street. We’re observant, you and I. Promises are there to be kept, not broken, and I know I’ve broken that promise on more than one occasion but I promised that I would write to you, and this is me writing to you. You know who you are. You proof read my mind before you take me too seriously and you always fall asleep before I pretend to be awake. Can we waltz, Matilda, through dazzling fields of silk laced honey, throwing the wind at caution before falling into flowers, defenceless, happy and exhausted? You make me laugh, mostly with you but often at you, how you feel so passionately about things that don’t matter and how much things are obviously yours, and anybody trying to enjoy them as well is not allowed to. We laugh with you, at you. You don’t listen to what I say but you like what I say, anyway. When I don’t make sense you cut me off and it gets me mad and if you weren’t so much there I’d see red and end up kicking you in the head. You deserve being kicked in the head, some days. The longest section, dedicated to you.
I don’t want to make crowns with you today. None of your crowns will be as good as mine anyway so why are you even trying?
gtfo my shop.
I’d better go to work.
Tomorrow I have to make crowns and tiaras with little kids and teach them how to curtsey. Damn you Royal Wedding!
Might abuse my discount after my shift though :)
I’m actually quite good at comforting people… this is just hilarious!
Eddy and I saved a homeless, starving mother cat and her kitten on the walk home from [w] at 2am sunday morning…
Smudge, the baby.
Elsa, the mum, who is seriously underweight, yet ridiculously friendly. She’s a fantastic mum to Smudge.
Oscar hasn’t met them yet… not sure he’ll be too pleased.
I want you to refer me back to the neurologist and sort my Tourettes pills out so I can stop getting worse and stop being in pain.
that you truly think you would be capable of smashing them in the face with an axe, regardless of consequence?