“Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we’re told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we’re so focused on finding our happy ending we don’t learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don’t, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn’t include a guy, maybe… it’s you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is… just… moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope.”—
15129.) Even though you ended up hurting me, I blame myself. And what kills me is that I still want you, and I still have the smallest hope that we will be together later on. I miss our kisses, I miss us.
When you remove your clothes, step on to that pale wooden floor and close the door behind you, you leave the mess outside. And for that few hours, the world is simple again. Everything is straight forward. All you have to do, is to get better. Every move and decision is focussed on getting things correct and making it look good. There is only one end point. No choices. No having to deal with other people. No variables. Just you, and the mirror and the music. The world makes sense now. For that few hours.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?
We could change our minds.
That seems to be the hottest topic at this time.
I fear there’s nothing more.
My flirting with disaster is modern love.
You are the sweetest thing I’ve found since whenever,
You’re the only way my time is measured.
I love that smell on you,
I like it natural,
No need for chemicals.
Sparkening up my senses
And give us both a break.
And to give us back a taste when the way things were before they made the laws,
And to give us both a chance,
It’s crazy how you’re killing me.
Weekend party’s over,
Friday, got cold shoulder,
Monday, got a new composure.
Monday, I’m self-exposed now.
I won’t blow your cover
Opportunistic lover.”—Jason on ma boy.