i need this
Saint Louise Was Listening On
1:27 a.m. || 2005-03-21
You wanted a challenge that's calling you higher I landed on my feet by crawling I
Remember standing alone trying to forget you idling I hate to admit that that's my
Reference point but there it is you say you want me
I'm what you found I'm upside down you're in the air you're in the air and I am breathing
You
I want the stars to know they've won if only to beguile the sky has opened up again in
Heaven reconciled I want you naked I want you wild I want the stars to know they win
Give me that smile just give it me just turn it on I'm lost again
I'm what you found I'm upside down you're in the air I'm what you found I'm upside down
You're in the air I'm what you found I'm upside down you're everywhere you're in the air
And I am breathing you.
I have set the playlist to R.E.M. for an all night lonely-fest, a tear ridden suicide fest. I remember these. I want to know what the fuck is going on inside me. I had these glimpses tonight, in the back of my mind:
me in a car, in the rain, at night, in my grey suit with the black velvet lapel.
me this time in a silver car, in the rain again, listening to air's "how does it make you feel?" sleepy, fuzzy, pondering...
me in my pyjama pants having the chance to get out of here, and blowing it.
I have a hole where my heart should be, as cold and as black as anything. I don't think I feel the same way other people do. I don't think I rationalize the way other people do. I don't think I love the same way other people do. I wonder if I even know what that means, or maybe my problem is I know it too well. I'm not sure.
I wanted to hold your hand today. Didn't I say that a couple of hours ago? I know I did. And I meant it. And I feel I have to say it again. I wanted that.
I try a lot of things to block it all out of my mind, and act like everything is cool, and everything is on the level. That includes sleeping, wasting a good day like today, making sure you didn't call every two seconds, feeling disappointed that you didn't, even though I was relatively sure you weren't going to, whatever the why.
Downstairs the bass thundered on, leaving a whole cacaphony of other thoughts to contend with. Contention has been everything as of late. It seems like everything is at war.
These clothes don't fit me right.
All I have left is a notebook I can't write in. A skill that leaves me nothing but heartache, a box full of memories, shadows of everything, and the nothing that stretches on and on inside.
crazy what you could have had.