Untitled

I think that if we ever broke up
Or if my worst fears ever came to life
And you turned out to be the person I was praying you weren’t,
I think that I would probably die.

Not kill myself, no.
Just die.
On the inside.

That little light inside me,
That keeps me from being a real life zombie,
I think it would burn out
And I would be all black and blue on the inside.

I wouldn’t be able to engage in daily conversations,
I’d probably just mumble to get by.
I’d walk around aimlessly,
With that little spring in my step completely gone.
It’d probably be more of a twitch just to keep me going.

I don’t want to say I’d die without you,
Not physically.
I’d be fine without you, actually.
It’s just that…
Well, now I know “better”
and “fine” seems a little dead to me.

You have no idea
How much deeper
The meaning of those words pierce.

Every prayer,
Every wish
Upon a star,
Or that a genie might grant,
Would consist of one,
Simple,
Tiny,
Thing.

Death.

My prayers
And my wishes
Never came true.
So I stopped believing in them.

And began to believe in myself
Hoping that maybe one day
I’d have the guts to do it myself.

There’s a lot of things I’ve wanted to pursue as a career in the lifespan of twenty years.
I once wanted to design wedding cakes or be a cake designer of some sort.
I remember once wanting to be a vet, then an astronaut and then an archeologist
Because, seriously, what’s more awesome than digging up fossils?
Oh, that’s right- marine biology. So I could be on the discovery channel and swim with the sharks.
Then came being a psychologist, then a criminologist, then simply an agent for the FBI.
There was also a mortician, a forensic pathologist, and then a “blood splatter analogist”.
Then came being a teacher, then a writer and then an illustrator.
For a brief second I considered being a politician but that was short-lived. (More so than the rest).
I even considered being a bus driver or janitor because.. Why the hell not?
That coincides with being a truck driver or a pilot or stewardess.
Then it was journalism and shortly afterwards it was photography.
Maybe a carpenter? A model designer? A painter?

I’m still undecided, after exploring many fields,
And I think it’s mostly because as I grow I see that the world is filled with too many things to simply dedicate your entire life to one thing.
One thing that will define you and your existence for…well, ever.
It’ll be how you’re remembered or brought up in someone’s daily conversation. It’ll direct your decisions and the outcomes.

It’s difficult to decide for someone who doesn’t want to be remembered. Someone who doesn’t want the responsibility of /living/ on their shoulders.
Someone who’s heart is set on being dead the following day and not having to make the decision at all.

Someone whose one constant aspiration was death itself.

We haven’t had our first fight yet
But, already, I know what it’ll be about.
Because I’ve been holding back so much for so long
And I push aside the feelings so much
That I begin to forget. Sometimes.
But then it comes back.
I know what our first fight will be about…
But I’ll do everything I can to prolong it further.

I’m sorry that I’m not sorry for posting so many “Perks of a Wallflower” quotes…