I just walk and walk and walk around to drown the disappointment. Fast paced so one would notice the tears forming. Deadpan so no one will know something is wrong.
When will it stick to my head that I should stop? Loving you hurts. Loving you is a freaking mistake that I commit over and over again. Loving you is like a wound I keep squeezing until it bleeds.
It's just moronic how I check my phone every five seconds or so to see if I have a message from you. How I watch you walk away, always wishing you'd never have to. How I'm the best photographer you've ever seen just to catch your attention. How I do every single thing you ask me to.
Do I nurse this wound or should I just let it bleed?
90% of the time, I don't know why I do this. Why I even bother. Are you even worth it?
I get tired trying. And its useless cause you don't see me. Not at all. How much more dense can you be? How much more impervious to the injury can you be? And I'm not so sure how much more I can take.
The life behind the front. The truth. The things that stay backstage. The words I speak that are unheard. The soliloquys I haven't tried to say out loud. But wanted to.
The regrets. The could've beens, or what-might-have-beens. The what would've, what should've. The will do's.
The music I listen to in my player. The mushy stuff. Voices of Theory, Boyz II Men, boy bands. Spanish songs. Hip hop stuff. Emo. Screamo. David Cook.
The movies I like. The movies I detest. The books I read and make up my literary background. The clothes I wear. in pink, in black, in green, and all the bright colors all together. All my Chuck Taylors and scandalous high heels. My bags in rattan that look like bayong, and all the other skeletons I have in my closet.
The pictures I take that freezes the moment. The thrill of the shutter. The inner papparazzi. The high of long exposures. Addictive.
The wants that I cannot have. The ones I have that I took for granted. The wishes on the stars and the coins dropped with a kiss before tumbling down the wishing well.
I just walk and walk and walk around to drown the disappointment. Fast paced so one would notice the tears forming. Deadpan so no one will know something is wrong.