sexta-feira, 30 de dezembro de 2011

When dreams won't do

"Journeys end in lovers meeting."

And as I close the songmeanings page once open on "Black Balloon" I feel sadder than before. I like this song because of those beautiful lines that go about 'the lies they always told you, and the love you never knew..."- This is a song about drugs, afterall; therefore I can realize that it's not about us. I mean, it's not about us, but I could fucking swear those lines were written to me. It's the story of my life. Or at least the story of my loveless-love-life. Something like an epilogue. What a load of crap, right? There are no songs about me. Or you. Or us. And as I open the blank page in which I'm going to struggle to write I can already feel that oppressive feeling in my chest, twisting in my heart. What a stupid nasty little image that of a heart being torn apart. By a feeling, you see?! A freaking feeling the has grown so freakishly strong! How romantic - in the most terrible, cheesy way. But anyhow, it's here and it's true. Can you feel the power of the word true? I knew it was true the very first time I caught myself actually paying attention to a conversation about nano-technology used in solar reactors in order to produce hydrogen (and I really did get it!). No, no, no, that would be a lie. I knew it was true when I first saw you. I just didn't think, you know. You were right there, in front of me, so... simple and lovely - mesmerizing. I knew it right there, feeling so raw and bare and painfully real. The sight of you left all of my butterflies in a poisonous reverie. A beautiful storm in my chest and soul. And I close my eyes and It's all I can do to see your mouth, and that damn scar of yours screaming for my kisses. And those eyes... That won't see me.

And I cannot even blame you, see? Dude. It's all on me. I may have taken your heart for granted, as I myself took my body for granted... And whether I like it or not, we all know everything comes down to bodies, most of the times. Man, I took life for granted once again. That's how it goes for me - that's how I roll. Not always, let's be sincere. But when it comes to this, a second time is just about enough. And now I can feel tears almost coming to life on my face. Embarrassing. And I brought this on me, didn't I? Why do I keep doing this? What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Always aiming too high, always trying to reach that which is obviously not meant for my eyes. Or heart. Well, for all I know, that's it. This is the last stab I'll take with the little pride I still have. I'm done with taking chances. Was it just my imagination? I was never meant for you, then? I was never meant for this.

Damn, I did fall so bad. I have never fallen so bad. And now I need to work my way back out and up - or down! - again to the real world. I'm just never enough. I'm just... me. Regardless of how many fucking gyms I join or haircuts I get. I'm just Wrong. I'm weird, uninteresting, unattractive, weird, broken, silly, awfully insecure, weird, silly again, weird again and hopelessly - oh, so hopelessly - romantic.

I'm standing right here.

And it should be the perfect equation, you know? I can perfectly picture the sunset on the beach, you walking up to me, totally shy but still saying it's ok, little dude [you're always calling me that - not sure I like it, though.] we gotta go and try this for ourselves. I want this too. - And only then I would kiss you for the very first time and my life would be complete. But that's just so fucking lame. I feel so fucking lame.

And I guess that, in a nutshell, what I'm trying to say is... (Ok, I heard this once and never thought I would say that but...) here it goes: well, to me, you are perfect.