delusional-love

Thank you for undusting my true colors; or color: black... Oh, how I missed the darkness!

The biggest lie women tell themselves about men: When I get what I want, I will be happy.

I was deluded, and I knew it. Worse: my love for Pippa was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother's death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her back. All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness. I was seeing things that weren't there. I was only one step away from some trailer park loner stalking a girl he'd spotted in the mall. For the truth of it was: Pippa and I saw each other maybe twice a year; we e-mailed and texted, though with no great regularity; when she was in town we loaned each other books and went to the movies; we were friends; nothing more. My hopes for a relationship with her were wholly unreal, whereas my ongoing misery, and frustration, were an all-too-horrible reality. Was groundless, hopeless, unrequited obsession any way to waste the rest of my life?

I'd like to believe that my kiss has made you see me in a whole different light.

I think that before and after we kissed are two different timelines.

Here's to love at first sight, and here's to getting over it the moment you blink.

But the most important thing I know is that I want the possibility of you more than the reality of [her].

We are all just illusions of what we want the world to believe about us, no one even begins to assume what lurks below my surface, not even my best friends. ~Callum~