Running Behind

Not that people read any of these at the moment due to my lazy lack of tags.

But I do owe the blog at least two rants posts.

You know when you meet someone and the crash, literally crash through every wall, ever trap door ever single nasty piece of protection you’ve put up and without even realising they’ve broken up all the scar tissue and wrapped you up in warm blankets and chocolate sauce and glues you back together rather than just a half assed sticky taped attempt. You know that feeling?

Safety.

And then as my life seems to like to have the uncanny ability to do.

It’s all over.

The rip chords been pulled and I crashed into the ground with out a parachute.

Somehow alive.

But more broken than I was when I started.

And now as only my world seems to do. EVERY. FUCKING. PERSON. HAS. HIS. GODDAMN. NAME. Seriously! How popular can one name be? Even the guy whose handling my interviews for a potential job has. the. name.

WHAT?

How ironic can one persons life be?

I actually managed for once to cut loose. It ended, I walked. No arguing, no crying, no pathetic sobbing about how you’ll try harder to be who they want. Nothing. It was one of the hardest days of my life, I’m not one to back away from a challenge, or let things go when I don’t agree. But for once I left with my head held high.

And now, like 6 months down the line every single day I manage to meet a bloke with that name. And every time my stomach drops.

But what is a girl to do?

Is this how my life is going to be?

Forever stuck in the stomach dropping heart ache?

I’ve sort of been musing on the thought that perhaps false hope is better than no hope at all (thanks to 360 and his soul saving music) I want to call, but then is it worth the risk that he’s moved on and I’m just another notch on his bed post? Nothing more than a faze he went through as he grew up? A girl in the moment, when he needed a crutch? Or is better to leave it, not call, and live in a world where you can imagine him alone, too scared to call, missing me still but too young to realise that he’d actually captured to one? Live in a false hope. Where I can at least fool myself into happiness and believing that I’m doing better now that I would ever been had I called him and tried to find my notch on his bed again.

Lock me away.

I want to start again. 

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