I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELF I LOATHE MYSELFFFFFFF
When the morning comes and I’m surrounded by the pink walls of my empty room, wrapped up in the warm but somehow also cold sheets, I dream of your lazy eyes beside me, your cold fingers slowly tracing my thigh only to remind me to put it between yours, hidden in your warmth, safe. When half of the world is still asleep and our half is just waking up, I dream about the mumbled “Good morning” becoming the reason for the first smile of my day. When I lay awake in my lonely bed, I dream about your heartbeat in my ear as I’m lying on your chest. I dream about the unplanned touch of my bottom which is the ultimate waking up signal and then… Then only our half closed eyes, our plump lips, our deep husky voices and our messy hair remind us we’ve been asleep. Our hearts - wild, our hands - fast, our breaths - hot, our souls - one. As if we’d never need sleep again.
I literally feel like somebody’s reached down my throat, grabbed my heart and squished it. I feel this heartwrenching pain hidden in my throat and I also need air. So apparently Adam Gontier has left Three Days Grace. Can I just say one thing? Fuck this fucking life. Why them, why Three Days Grace, why the only band in the whole damn world that meant everything to me, why? I believed in this band like it was a god to me, I’ve cried with their songs and they’ve gotten me through the day. They’ve gotten me through life. They’ve been my strenght, my confidence, my toughness, my comfort. Adam Fucking Gontier. I motherfucking love this man. I’m afraid there are not enough words in the English language to describe what his voice does to me. That’s why I prefer not getting into any descriptions. Because whatever I say, will not be enough and I’ll be cheapening the true genius he really is. On top of that, some guy named Matt Walst from some band named My Darkest fucking Days is going to “replace” him for Three Days Grace’s upcoming tour. And after that..who knows. I don’t understand how can a person take the responsibility to try to fill in this brilliant man’s shoes? But I won’t get into that now as well, they need a vocal after all. If it wasn’t him, it’d have been someone else. I just can’t even begin to explain to you the bitterness I feel while listening to this Matt sing the lyrics of my fucking life. I feel so ..betrayed, as weird as it may sound. His what is barely even a try to influence me personally is more than a fail. Where’s that aggressive “I hate everything about you” that I remember? Where’s that strong but passionate and full of love growl? Where’s that filled with honesty “I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all”? Where’s that “Let’s start a riot”, inspirational to the point where it makes an insecure to the bone girl walk around school like she owns it? Where’s the band that “stands above the crowd”? This hit hard. Too damn hard.
Growing up. What does that even mean? When are you officially grown up? When you get a job? When you pay for stuff with money you make? When you “realize” life is a struggle, a mean cycle, ugly and grey? When the most important decisions to you become “when am I going to wash the dishes”, “what should I cook today”, “is it time to clean the house again”? Don’t you ever think that maybe growing up isn’t about working? That maybe growing up doesn’t mean getting bitter, worn out and desperate? That maybe growing up is not about cleaning the dirt in your house but in your mind and heart? Maybe growing up is about finding yourself. And I don’t mean finding out what job you want or how many kids you wish to have. I mean finding yourself. Finally realizing what you are and stop trying to change that but accept it and try to shape it in different ways, your own ways. Not trying to fit into stereotypes, not trying to blend, not trying to be “normal” but being who you are and still fit in this world. Maybe growing up is not about being totally confident and sure about everything, like your feelings for example. Maybe growing up is about knowing you’re confused and embracing it. Maybe it’s about knowing you’re in pain but embracing it. Not showing it to the world or flaunting it in some way but embracing it to yourself. It’s kind of like you are a different person who is a part of you. And when that person is having a hard time, you give him the space and the time he needs to recover. You don’t push him to be okay again just because grown ups are supposed to be calm and peaceful even when they’re not. You give him all the time he needs to heal. And if that happens, great. If not, you accept your wounds and learn to live with them. Because that’s you, that’s who you are. And if that doesn’t fit into the definition of “grown up” then excuse me, but I’d like to stay a kid forever. Because the only way to be happy is to accept yourself. And if I can’t live hapily as an adult, I’d love to live happily as a kid.
Tomorrow I want to spend some time outside. I want us to get coffee and walk around for a while. Just you and me, the warm cups of coffee between the fingers of our left hands and the cigarettes between the ice cold fingers of our right hands. I want to talk to you. But really talk to you. I want to sink in your words, I want one of those conversations where I suddenly look at the time and wonder how is it possible to be that late. I want to listen to you and I want you to listen to me. I want to interrupt you in the middle of your sentence with a kiss, not because I’m tired of listening but because I can’t help it. I want to feel your arm around my waist as we’re walking. I want to feel it gently supporting my back every time I trip (you know I do that a lot). And don’t mind me whining about how cold it is, that doesn’t mean I want to go home. That’s just the way I am. And when I put on my hood, I want to see that smile telling me “You’re cute” when I know I look ridiculous. I want us to make plans about the future. I want us to calculate how expensive it would all cost even though we both have no idea what we’re talking about. I want to ask you questions. So many questions. And I want you to answer me until you catch yourself talking for minutes and apologize for it.You know you don’t need to. I like that. And then I want to kiss you. I want to taste the already cold coffee on your tongue. I want that kind of kiss that makes me throw away half a cigarette without even caring, that kind of kiss that makes me trip when I’m not even walking. I want us to seize and enjoy that time of the day between day and night, when everything’s this half transparent shade of blue. I want us to keep walking around the blue faces of unfamiliar people, around the dim lights of the already closed stores, between the traces of breaths left after strangers passing us by. And when it gets dark, I want you to hug me tight and tell me you love me. Tomorrow I want to spend some time outside. But tonight I’ve got only one thing to do.. miss you.
God, I miss you so terribly. I can feel it in my heart, even in my bones and in every muscle of my body. I feel like I’m not living when I don’t get enough of you. I miss the closeness and the intimacy. I miss your kisses and your touch. I miss our bodies becoming one. I need my dose of you. Daily.
Sitting here with a cup of coffee, in my pyjamas, hair in a messy ponytail, no make-up on, I crave life. Sitting here in my old chair in my old room surrounded by memories, I crave experiences. Listening to old music which gives me the warm but strange feeling of something past, something important but at the same time long gone, I crave new words, new melodies, new symphonies of sounds, new ways of listening to them. Sitting here, re-watching old tv shows the lines of which I know by heart, I crave new inspirations. New home but not for my physical being. New home for my soul. Sitting here in the cute fluffy cardigan that my grandma gave me years ago, I realize I’m stuck in the present. Does that even make sense? I’m so afraid to go out of my comfort zone that new things happen to me so rarely. And when they do, I try my best to keep things the way they are, not changing, still. My desire, my thirst for life and new experiences is in a constant fight with my fear of change, life, my fear of everything. And it looks like there could be no winner because they’re equally strong. And here I am, stuck in my current state of being, comfortable, not afraid but at the same time never fully satisfied, never truly happy, always wanting more, always longing, always waiting for something to make me feel content, brave and myself.