Taking risks with pessimist.

I’m kind of excited for life to start all over again, so I can stop sitting around and writing about it, and start feeling it instead. For now, I feel like I am in a fishbowl. Everyone’s looking, but nobody’s talking.

I miss the old versions of you and me. You’re only as good as the company you keep, and when I’m all alone, I’m only as good as myself. It just doesn’t matter to me as long as you’re around, I guess. We're drifting apart and fading away, but I keep on tracing over memories to keep them fresh. We’re still here, all of us. Just in different locations.

Or maybe not. I’m not so sure anymore. I love you, and I miss you. But I get the feeling that you just wouldn’t get it. You just wouldn’t get me.

I’m still not done putting ”x”s in the boxes next to “mood swings” and “inconsistencies.” I’m always calling it quits, my hands are always shaking. I’m alright, alright, alright, but I’m waiting for everyone to fall asleep so me and the tick of the clock and the beat of my heart can be alone. When the large portion of the world is awake, I feel like there are too many complications to the wires connecting my heart and my brain.

I know this isn’t making a lot of sense, but sometimes feelings don’t read like instruction booklets. I’m not faking these smiles, they come naturally, but they have to share a bed with all the troubles my feeble head has worked up. “Sleeping With The Enemy,” or so it would seem.