April 05, 2007
When I talk about words and music.
I know it's not thrilling or exciting to read about my broken heart, and that it's not the best form of entertainment, but it's good therapy. I just wish that once the words were written here, that the feelings that go along with the words would fade.
I miss him. He's still around, but it's not the same. He is acting different.
I've been treating him the same. I dunno, my pride won't let me act any other way. I can tell my friends how much I am hurting, I can write about it here, but I don't want to tell him. I don't know if it's that I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me, or if it's that I don't want to make him feel bad...I just know that when he asks how I am, I say I'm fine.
I'm not fine. I'm not even ok. I'm losing sleep. Even the man at home knows something is up. We had this confersation last night.
Him: What's his name?
Me: Whose name?
Him: The guy that has you listening to all these sad songs?
Me: I don't know what you're talking about.
Him: I'm not stupid, girl, you don't listen to this kind of music when you're happy, so who is it?
Me: I just like the songs, alright.
Something told me he didn't buy my story, but I didn't have the heart to fight it out with him. I can't help that listening to those tearjerkers is cathartic for me.
Amy Winehouse...that girl can sing. She's got some songs that just speak so clearly to me right now.
Amy Winehouse
For you I was the flame,
Love is a losing game
Five story fire as you came,
Love is losing game
One I wish I never played,
Oh, what a mess we made
And now the final frame,
Love is a losing game
Played out by the band,
Love is a losing hand
More than I could stand,
Love is a losing hand
Self professed and profound
Til the chips were down
Know you�re a gambling man
Love is a losing hand
Tho' I battled blind,
Love is a fate resigned
Memories mar my mind,
Love is a fate resigned
Over futile odds,
And laughed at by the Gods
And now the final frame,
Love is a losing game
Yeah, I love to write poetry. Sometimes the words just flow right out, and the thoughts gel, and when I'm finished writing it just feels...right. Yet, there are times when the words of someone else just say it so much more clearly.
How hard I worked at loving you
And I'm not myself
When I'm with you
It takes and breaks
My heart in two
(From: I'm Not Myself - Amos Lee)
He hates drama. If he knew I was talking about him here, using his words, discussing this situation, he would probably be mad. Yet, I need to talk about it, or I will never get over it. It's bad enough as it is, but keeping it locked inside would be worse.
I hate that I miss him so much, because I know he doesn't miss me at all. I know he's so happy to have her back that the way I feel is the farthest thing from his mind. Ironically, I think I knew it would be this way. I even told him once that I make a habit out of falling in love with men that I know will never fall in love back.
You get what you ask for.
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jktty at 3:25 p.m.