I swear that I will follow anything.
Just get me out of here.
Immaturity is the act of which compromising yourself in an unhealthy relationship. This isn’t rocket science, and for damn sure a new revelation. Such a simple concept, but how many people do we know that constantly repeat the cycle of: “Man, why do all of my friends go for crazy mother fucking people?”
This leads to a few conclusions.
A: Our friends are not as intelligent as we would like to think they are.
or B: Or friends are just as emotionally fucked as the people they are dating.
Because who you date is a direct reflection of who you are, what you find attractive, what you find acceptable, what you’re willing to put up with, and what you’re willing to be subjected to.
Maybe it’s you that I’m talking about. Maybe you are the moron that continually makes excuses for your boyfriend or your girlfriend. Maybe it’s you that perpetuates the cycle that continues to let shitheads go unchallenged. Maybe it’s you that secretly knows that this person isn’t worth your love. Yet you continually chase after that “one night he kissed you ‘good night’ under the street lights”, so hard it made you float back into your room to write in your journal post about how amazing and perfect he was. But he’ll never kiss you like that again, and despite all attempts of reliving that night, he will disappoint you. Because that night, forgetting all good judgement, you idealized.
You see these people as the end all, be all, of love. When in reality, we are simply smelly and flawed boys and girls. We refuse to see our faults and our flaws when most of us are smart enough to know that no one comes wrapped in a little yellow bow, and that none of us shit strawberry ice cream.
So why do we keeping falling for the same shitty boy and shitty girl? Well that butterfly feeling in your stomach is your worst enemy. That is the feeling love makes when it’s storming the castle wall of common sense. That’s what it feels like when someone’s smile has gotten the best of you, and conned you into thinking that he or she is everything you’ve always wanted. And that’s where we go wrong. Because that’s when we believe that someone can complete us.
True love is when we complete ourselves. Anything less is given in, traded down, and sold out. True love is when we are mature enough to say, “No, no thank you.” To someone who, despite how they glow under the moonlight, forgets to call the next day. To say, “No, fuck you.” To the little cute rebel boy that continues to string you along and break your heart. True love is knowing who really deserves, but who is willing, and excited to treat our love in a matter that which it deserves. True love is not giving time to shitty boyfriends and shitty girlfriends, because we know we are better than that. True love is being about to tell the difference between someone completing us, and someone complimenting us.
True love is someone who will not eclipse our glow. Only enhance it.
It feels very wet.
“I wish I’d had gotten to you before the chaos.” she said. “But the chaos is what not only has taken over, but what is the fuel that runs the steam of this engine.”
Without the mayhem, I’m simple, plain, and boring. And you know what God does to boring people.
“Someone asked about regret.”
“I regret something every single day.” I responded.
Because everyday, I miss an opportunity, to live harder, fuck better, kiss longer, and rage harder. There’s this gift we all have. Despite the cards we’ve been dealt, we all sit at the same table. Some play what they have, and some ask for forgiveness, and some burn with guilt, and some sit with words on their tongue, and some just don’t know when to shut the fuck up.
But we have all have it. This gift.
And the laziness you project is nothing more than a flamboyant arrogance to those who sit and wait for death.
To those that are wishing at this very moment for 15 more minutes of life. To use those 15 more passion filled minutes to proclaim their love. For 15 more minutes to breathe the acceleration.
You are a fucking arrogant and wasteful human being. And I hang my head in shame for the moment you squander and the heart you no longer put to use.
I will sit across from you and wonder what happened to your soul. How a got so black and empty. And I’ll watch your mouth move, and I’ll think only to myself, “I wish you would end it. For me. For you. And for those you continue to poison with your vile and contemptuous existence.”
Because yes, I believe there are people that are better off dead. And yes, I believe that those who squander this gift are beneath those who make the attempt. And yes, you will be judged on the life you live. Relationships and the respect given to them. And the responsibilities to stand accountable for.
And no, I do not believe that everyone is inherently good.
And those who know the vigor and urgency of life, thank you for being my inspiration. Thank you for letting me take something away from your words and actions. Thank you for being a teacher. Thank you for showing me that it’s more courageous to express love than it is to stand silent.
Because fuck waiting three days to call you back.
Fuck being embarrassed about thinking about you every day.
Fuck not showing love and interest.
Fuck not making the first move.
Fuck not making any moves.
Fuck holding you back.
Fuck holding me back.
Fuck expectations, standards, out-dated traditions, and rules that no longer apply.
Because in my last minutes, I refuse to sit in shame over the moments and opportunities I misused.
I will look down at the racing stripes that cover this battled warm body and smile, and hope that I’ve done everything that I could with this animated corpse God gave me.
Because you never regret the people you kiss.
You only regret the people you don’t kiss.