I’m waiting until the clock strikes 1:17 to begin writing this piece of shit.
And it just went. I could have a conversation for days about relationships, perceptions of a relationship, ignoring of a relationship, allowing yourself to graduate from like into something else, to knowing that you are currently wasting time, to knowing that what you’re doing doesn’t flow- your blood might begin to not flow. Then who cares about an interaction and love flowing well. Your blood has slowed into a crawl in your system- so you’re done. Love is mystical but your blood is dark blue and then red- it hangs out in viles, comes out of your nose, seeps into the bits of your knuckles, runs down your arms. I mean, point me to the way of love in a vile and I’ll stare at it and say ‘Nah, I don’t think that’s my color. I’ll do it up my own way-.’ I will keep them in viles as long as possible until the time comes for me to say ‘ok, this is done’ and I’ll reach into the cooler, grab the vile and pour it down the drain- done. But. Like always- you think something’s out of your system but we all know that drains keep stains, so you’ll never really drain the love you have for someone- especially if you decide to take a flashlight and look into the drain. It might be a fucking kaleidoscope of mistakes you made. This kaleidoscope of mistakes might shine so bright that it stings your eyes- but you have to make out the shapes and understand yourself- and your mistakes- or you’ll never really know what the fuck to do.