Blankets

So. Here I sit. I can't get back to sleep. The sound of your voice is still echoing in my ears. Infact on night's like this, everything you have said echos and vibrates inside my head. Back and forth, like an extensive game of pong. What the fuck. I can't even think of pong without thinking of you. Oh, how you make me smile. I should take comfort in the fact that as I sat on the edge of tears the thought of you making that pong noise made me smile. Oh, how you make me smile. Sometimes it is so much more simple to wish you did not. I am ashamed to admit that while you make me so happy, there are times I wish you did not. I can't even look at the large painting on my bedroom wall without thinking of you. The blanket I pull around me most times is worse. It does absolutely nothing BUT remind me of you. It's not that I don't love you, or that I don't want you to make me happy. It's just that things are so confusing and difficult on both ends. Oh, what twisted webs we weave. I see my spinnings crystal clear, and now I just wish I could see yours. So many questions. I wish I could ask..but I just can't. I don't want to make you angry or upset, yet there is nothing I want more than the answers.I am finding myself so concerned with trivial things that maybe should not matter at all. They fucking matter to me. I'm in over my head, and you can keep me from drowning. I'm just too afraid to ask for help. I'm afraid you won't say what I need to hear. I'm afraid it's all a game, and I'm a pawn. I am fed up with being afraid. I'm fed up with alot lately. My wires are overheating, my springs are wound too tightly. Poutbot 3000 is going to be broken and emo for good if she doesn't get it all straight. No, it's not the same conversation we have had a hundred times. I promise. I have this sinking feeling that suddenly you have turned in to every other guy I have ever known. It is making me sick inside. Don't get angry. Don't yell. It's not what you think. I've always had you on this pedastal. I am sitting here, watching it wobble, praying you will not fall. I am so terrified one whisper of the wrong question, and it will all crash to the floor. The breeze from my soft voice trembling and requesting an answer, along with the familiar deep comfort of yours answering me "incorrectly" will turn it all to dust. I don't know what I am. I am not even sure what I want to be to you anymore if I could pick anything I desired. I'm rambling. Do you hate it yet? Am I just here to stroke your ego? God I hate this. I forgot what it's like to be heartbroken, even if maybe it's crumbling prematurely this time.
I feel sick. I'm going to go smoke, and force myself asleep. Yes, thats right, I'm going to smoke. I'm going to watch the gray liquid air rise into nothing and pretend I have a clue.You should love the girl - not the game, lover. Eh, I still love you. Why do you love me?