Mar 14, 2008
I don't know why I keep coming back. I don't know why I tell myself I'm in love with you when I know I'm not. Sometimes I can even convince myself, because with you I'm safe from danger, from myself, but then I remember that it's all a lie. I'm drawn to you because you're just like me, but weaker, sadder, more empty. You sit there and put on your show, pretend that you're like anyone else, but you're so scared of life, you're crippled on the inside. After all this time, you don't know who you are.
You're afraid of living. But then again, so am I. I use you the same way I know you use others every day, as a comfort for your own inadequacies. I'm through with this game.
It's not our fault really, if you want to blame anyone you can always use the ever favorite scapegoat- the media.
Honestly, every single romantic comedy is about a jerk turning it around because of the love of a woman. So, we don't want "excitement" exactly, more like a miracle. Or as some of us might prefer to say, a challenge.
Meanwhile, I feel your frustration. Every guy says he wants a low-maintenance girl who loves sports. But who do they fall all over themselves for? The bottle blondes who think sweat is "icky" and somehow wake up perfect.