Tearing up the pea patch.

First up: If you get the title, I love you.

Second, more to the point: This situation is too much of a combination of two previous times in my life for me to be able to treat it like I should. I know what happened in the past, and I don't even want to think about what would happen if you combined those two results.

Hey, you. I'm here again, on that silver fucking platter, right in front of your face, reassuring you, comforting you, promising things I shouldn't really be promising, and listening to your hollow words and comparing them to 1) clichés and 2) past experiences.

When I'm sober, it's entertaining. After a little bit of alcohol, it's dead serious and you've got me crying. CRYING. Taste that. I haven't cried since the Tree (Hahaha! Are you reading this, fucker? I haven't cried since you.).

And I can't accuse you of anything, because that's a sign of doubt, of disbelief. You say you're the worst scum imaginable, yet you act as though your word is law. What. The. Fuck. You say you don't know if you can trust me yet, and yet, you expect me to poke out my eyes with steeeks and follow you like a fucking puppy.

How long must I grovel for you to trust me? Should I even be grovelling in the first place? Why am I letting myself get to this.

Ah, right, because the worse things are, the better it will feel when they resolve themselves. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, remember, remember? But these things don't just go poof and click into perfection like the strings of a tennis racket do into their grooves. If this hurts already now, it won't go away. It'll writhe and snap and rip, duller for every day, but nonetheless. You'll end up being okay by the end of it, but not better. The click of the ideal won't even dream of appearing.

This is what's in my head. It's fun; I give myself away, heart on sleeve, self spilled to you, every door open. And then, I feel unbelievable pain when it goes wrong, and I walk around, reveling in my own misery. Born fucking martyr. Relationship masochist.

Do you realise this is for you?