Shut up, world.
Just shut. up.
Do you know how much of my afternoon entertainment you've given me? how entertaining it is, watching you contradict yourself, failing over and over?
Call me a cynic. I'm sick of love. I'm sick of expecting things to work out, and they never do.
So maybe i'm not sick of love. Maybe i'm just yearning it. Like a little growth inside me, devouring my insides.
Who do I call to make it all better? who do I call when I've accomplished something grand in my life?
I'm sick of reading how great your love lives are. How perfectly everyone fits together. How smug they are. When is it my turn?
I want one of those romances where the person is not exactly like me, but like me enough to understand me. (That's right, Alia, I indirectly said it). Someone who'll call me up on a saturday night and say "I read your production log today. How did the movie making go?"
Someone who would love me despite the intense amount of crazy in my life.
But I'm coming to terms with the fact that someone doesn't exist.
Anyone's welcome to prove me wrong, but I think I'll either have to drop the bar or get out of the game.
No comments:
Post a Comment