Parachute played this acoustic in the parking lot at Starfest last night. It was amazing!
She has no problem with secrets
She knows how to keep them
She never felt the need to let them show
And I’ve had no trouble with speaking
Or trusting my instincts
That maybe this is one that I should know
But as I’m waiting there
The devil on my shoulder stares
Laughing that the one thing I can’t get
Is what I need
She, She is the words that I can’t find
How can the only thing that’s killing me make me feel so alive
And I couldn’t speak
I couldn’t breathe to save my life
All of my chances swim like sinking ships
This time it’s it
I’ll drown or make her mine
"She (for liz)" by Parachute
It feels like I’m trying to salvage something, but isn’t it already finished?
All I hear is blah blah blah blah. On my text messages, my voicemails, facebook. I’m beginning to slowly drift into that part of myself that’s anti-social and doesn’t care to reply to people anymore. I’m aware it’s not good, but it’s just my personality. :( I don’t know why I’m always on the edge. Maybe it’s a short people syndrome. Everytime someone does or says something that slightly pisses me off, I just go off on them.. I yell, then I ignore.. And I will always ignore until they try to make up with me first. There are a number of people in my life who remain outside of my life because of this…
Oh well, one day at a time. People can’t change overnight, and I can’t either….
On the drive to work this morning, I kept running over and over in my head what I said or did.. to turn things this way. What it is about me that garners disrespect from guys?
About 10 songs later (5 of which were repeats of “If I Were a Boy” by Beyonce), I realized that the problem is not me. The only fault I partake in is being oblivious.
I later arrived to work with little to no sleep, as usual.
I drank my coffee and carried on with my life.
Emotions are fleeting, and this feeling, too, will pass.
There are people we treat wrong and later we’re prepared to treat other people right. Perhaps this sounds mercenary, but I feel grateful for these trial relationships, and I would like to think it all evens out - surely, unknowingly, I have served as practice for other people.
For ages, men have struggled to decode the hidden messages that women send out. Understanding the female mind is not an easy task. Unlike men, who have no problems saying what they mean, women almost never say what they really think.
Sometimes, I’d like to believe that I could defy the standards and just be straightforward like how guys are. You know, say what I really want to say. Yet, it wasn’t until recently that I came to understand why most women can’t come forward with their thoughts. To say something aloud is to reaffirm that it exists. More significantly, that a problem exists.
I have a million things that run through my head at any given moment. The sound of a telephone ring or a text message or simply a change in your tone can trigger an unsettling thought. And in my brain I am screaming at the top of my lungs.
Maybe one day I will say what’s on my mind. But today is not the day. Right now is not the time. Let’s live this care-free summer, and enjoy the sweet bliss that accompanies a blossoming romance before it wilts.
"You said let’s not tell people about this, don’t kiss me at breakfast. It never seemed like you wanted a boyfriend."
"So is that why you didn’t send me a flower on Valentine’s Day? Because I told you don’t send me flowers, was that it?"
"That’s exactly what you told me."
"You would never have been my boyfriend," I said.
His jaw tensed, which meant that at least I was getting to him.
"You wouldn’t have," I said. "I’m sure of it."
"That must be nice to be sure of things."
Simultaneously, I had the impulse not to contradict him - just to let his comment sit there so that later I could cling to its implication - and I had the impulse to destroy it for the lie it was.
"I’m not sure of everything," I said. "But I’m sure of this. You would have never been my boyfriend."
For a long time, we watched each other. Finally - not meanly- he said, “Yeah, you’re probably right,” and I began to cry. (When I went over the conversation, and over and over and over it, thinking of the part continued to make me cry. It never made things any better to remember that I had forced the admission.)