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July 26, 2018May 30, 2019realalmandyne1 Comment on Get Your Copy of “Diary of a CTTTGU”

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I make stupid decisions for somebody who thinks a lot. . . . It doesn't feel so right anymore. . . . They don't see what I see. They don't know why it matters so much. . . . Can I blame fate and sleep better? . . . If it mattered, it'll show. . . . You should've listened harder and picked a different word. You should've known better. . . . I should've known better. . . . I make stupid decisions for somebody who thinks a lot. . . . I'm tired. . . . Why doesn't anybody talk about Harambe anymore?

⛄ Do these doubts that I have percolate into your brain and mess with your head. Does it affect how you see me. Would you like to run away if I took your hand. Can I ask you questions all day and run my fingers through your hair. Will I feel the same tomorrow. Will you. The skies are curious. Are we only lost phrases hiding behind colorful lies.

How much can a heart take. Before it stretches and wrinkles and scatters into something you don't want to run back to anymore. Before it begs for you to stop, before it begs for a way out. How do you know when a heart falls apart in front of you but can't hear a sound or see a sign. How do you tell yourself it wasn't your fault when you couldn't catch it on time. How do you measure the love you felt and test whether it was real when you couldn't protect her heart. How do you ever love again and expect to do it right. 🌻🍂 She was all the poetry I've ever known. And I let her fall.

I like writing about you. I like the idea of not letting you know. I remind myself of happy things and I let reality sneak out the back door. I watch through glass windows with the rain pouring down and I pretend I didn't see you there. I don't know why i care and I don't know why i act like I don't. I hear what it sounds like and I swear that's not what it felt like. I know what it looks like but I swear that's not what it feels like. I wish I could let our colors smudge so you could see that you don't like the way it blends and let me go. I wish you would just let me go, or let me know when i can let you go. Cause I don't like writing about you anymore. I don't like that you don't know. 🍂 I don't like that you pretend that you don't.

yes, you are. in case you needed a reminder. ❤ you're loved and you're perfect and you're enough and you're everything that the sun rises for and everything that makes the sky blush so pink it makes the moon wanna melt into an evening star. you're not just another speck of meaningless cosmic dust. are you kidding me. don't even think that. you're special. so very special. you're a miracle even if you don't believe in that shit. you're the kind of person people write books about and dream about during sunsets. you're what makes me smile every day and you don't even have to do anything to remind me how much I love you. and yes, you're so fucking fine i wrote this entire paragraph just for you. yes, you. 💞 so have a nice day. bye.

last night I read this post that went something like - when the dreamer in you dies, what happens to the dream? 🌈 And i most definitely spent the rest of the night overthinking it. Like, I do know that it isn't as big a deal as an actual person dying, but it surely hurts somewhere, doesn't it? The idea of a dream dying. Slowly disintegrating and dissolving into the unknown. 🌺 but what if dreams can't die? What if it was never just yours for it to be gone the minute you stopped caring? Maybe there's more than one person building the same dream. Maybe people share dreams and don't even know it. Maybe you never had so much power or ownership over it after all. I guess that's how dreams don't die. I guess that's how they can't. That's the conclusion I came up with after staying up till 3 in the morning thinking about this. Thanks. I'm proud of myself too. *sighs deeply*

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