No happy ending, then.
I don’t get sick of writing about her. Even when I think I’m starting to get a bit obsessed about it, I think this is the sort of thing that just comes with this sort of love. You know, the kind that won’t go away? She loves me as much as I love her, as surprising as it seems, and I don’t ever want to let go. Neither do I want her to let go of me. But.
In every love story, everyone thinks that either they break up, or they have the happy ending that everybody else wants. For me, I don’t think that we’ll actually have either. I know, right now, it seems that we’ll break up with all the constant fighting, the lying, the misunderstandings, and all those general quirks that come after a time of being in a relationship with someone, and it’s completely my fault.
What I think she doesn’t understand is that I know, that I’m the one that seems to take us apart with every single thing I do, and that I’m mad at myself. She thinks I’m mad at her, or that I already have someone else, or that I fell out of love already, and all the things of that sort. What she doesn’t understand is that I hate myself for it. I try. So hard.
To be the person she wants. To be the guy with the good arms and not the kid that already has a daughter, to be the talented guy that sings and plays and writes songs about her, not blog posts. To be that text in the morning that makes her look forward to the rest of her day, not the lifeless goodnight after a hard day, to be the man that understands all she’s going through and holds her hand through the storm, not the cranky kid that’s upset when she isn’t able to give him what he wants. I’m the exact guy she said she’d never want in her life, but is there to stay. What she doesn’t understand is that I know that, too. And it hurts me almost as much as it hurts her.
I want her to be happy. I want her to be energetic and not flunk at everything she does because her mind’s elsewhere, wondering if I’m still there for her. I want her to stop having doubts about me and if I love her or not. I want her to fly, reach her dreams, all without having to look back every few seconds to check if we’re still intact. But she isn’t. She’s held back by me and my shit, and she doesn’t care even if it breaks her apart. What she doesn’t know is that it tears me to pieces too. And I’d do anything to take her pain away.
Because I love her. So damn much. That’s all there really is to it, really. She loves me, and I love her. But she wants different things. She wants me to change, but she doesn’t realize it yet. I want to too. But how can I when for me, everything’s just so perfect and bubbly and magical? I sound cheesy, yeah. Well fuck it. She means more than the world to me, and I’d do anything. I want her to be happy, I repeat, and she already is if I just cut down my bullshit, and all she wants in return is for that fairy tale happy ending everyone dreams about. What she doesn’t understand is that I’ll never let that happen. Because I’ll never let us end.