I keep waiting for my big break, but now I think that maybe I've missed it.
I didn't need to do it. I didn't want to either. I had passed the point of desire and hate, and I was moving on to being more weightless and acceptable. There were no more missed phone calls. There were a lot more nights out.
We were choice examples.
Maybe the past is forgotten and the flowers are dead, and maybe I wait up too late. I always was the more sentimental one. And you think it's childish and juvenile to cling to remnants and pieces, but I never knew how to leave them behind. I carry them with me wherever I go, picking them up off the floor and placing them in glass cabinets when you're not looking. I'll always be too attached.
I'm terribly sorry for the things I pray about. Forgiveness and cheap tickets to concerts I'll never go to. Headaches and rose petals, heart strings to be untied.
I wish I knew how to get better.
I wish...
