I Wish I Were Someone Else, Even

If There Wasn't A Word For It, Would We Realize Our Masochism As Much?

I Hate The Way You Talk To Me, And The Way You Cut Your Hair. I Hate The Way You Drive My Car. I Hate It When You Stare. I Hate Your Big Dumb Combat Boots, And The Way You Read My Mind. I Hate You So Much It Makes Me Sick; It Even Makes Me Rhyme. I Hate It, I Hate The Way You're Always Right. I Hate It When You Lie. I Hate It When You Make Me Laugh, Even Worse When You Make Me Cry. I Hate It When You're Not Around, And The Fact That You Didn't Call. But Mostly I Hate The Way I Don't Hate You. Not Even Close, Not Even A Little Bit, Not Even At All.

They Don’t Have Silences Together; They Have Noise. Mostly His.

This Is What I Never Allowed Myself To Need. And Of Course What I've Been Needing All Along.

I Was Starting To Think I Was Making Up Memories, Just To Have Answers. Our Brain Does That Sometimes. Or At Least Mine Does.