baby, divorce.
i may love you, but sometimes i don't even like you. you seem to be living one of my ideal alternative lives, with my friends, in my city, reading the books i like, and acting in/ directing plays - when I am the ever after drama queen!
and you lose yourself in this life, which is really mine. and think of me only sometimes, and even then you hasten to tell me or yourself that it wasn't really me, or was a shadow, or a sense, or a touch, but not me as i am now - alive and well, buoyant and radiant, wise and sometimes sad, loving and biting, screaming, me.
maybe what i feel is an illusion, and i was right before, when everything was pat, and you were comfortable cloudy past. or maybe you draw a million illusions and set up a million pedestals to avoid looking at the annoying truths of our present. because the story wouldn't make sense if it finished just now.
either give me the things in you which are really mine (or mine which are yours. or ours. centrifuge them off). darth vader, biggles, WWII, dahl, hagrid, animagus black, red fort, lodhi, tolkein, tagore, little prince, old country, old values, old poetry, old graves, new trees, new walks. or come and be with me and let's merge the stories.
this is the moment to speak. or forever leave me be to hate you a little, old friend. for wasting us.
actually, i don't really know and don't fully believe what i feel. but i can be convinced either way.... your time starts now.
(maybe fiction, let's see)
and you lose yourself in this life, which is really mine. and think of me only sometimes, and even then you hasten to tell me or yourself that it wasn't really me, or was a shadow, or a sense, or a touch, but not me as i am now - alive and well, buoyant and radiant, wise and sometimes sad, loving and biting, screaming, me.
maybe what i feel is an illusion, and i was right before, when everything was pat, and you were comfortable cloudy past. or maybe you draw a million illusions and set up a million pedestals to avoid looking at the annoying truths of our present. because the story wouldn't make sense if it finished just now.
either give me the things in you which are really mine (or mine which are yours. or ours. centrifuge them off). darth vader, biggles, WWII, dahl, hagrid, animagus black, red fort, lodhi, tolkein, tagore, little prince, old country, old values, old poetry, old graves, new trees, new walks. or come and be with me and let's merge the stories.
this is the moment to speak. or forever leave me be to hate you a little, old friend. for wasting us.
actually, i don't really know and don't fully believe what i feel. but i can be convinced either way.... your time starts now.
(maybe fiction, let's see)
Comments