am I a pill too big to swallow? I heard that in a song by an undiscovered artist I like, and I was wondering if we could wait until tomorrow to have another conversation? can we wait a little longer to turn on the bright white lights and grab all the right tools to dissect these feelings?
I was wondering what the expiration date is on the last beautiful thing I said, because the things I say go rotten pretty fast.
what about our conversation, love? about letting ourselves be. about not picking at every seam, about maybe not picking it all apart. what about our conversation, love? about how I believe you don’t know how to go out of your way for me. what about when I said I didn’t feel like your priority, and you threw me to the wolves for suggesting such a thing? I don’t have the energy, my love, not today. today I am beat and battered and sick. and in my ailing ways I have found that every whisper is true, and every sober conversation has an expiration date and every time I claw at my skin, I must do it alone, because you simply do not see. and if you do see, then that’s worse, because why won’t you fight for me like I fight for you?
oh, honey. babe, amore, love. your words mean the world, and the world is at my feet as I drown in its oceans. I’ve been drowning for days and your worry stops at your bedroom door. I didn’t even get a phone call. Just some words. some easy words.
unpleasant conversations 