1/11/2007
Black-striped familiarity

Eventually I'll find myself running miniscule distances just to kill the time, probably just to escape what's apparently unescapeable. I'll notice a detail, get away from it, and maybe when I start to breathe heavily I'll realize it isn't exactly worth the effort.

Eventually I'll fear the small talk, even if it actually makes me happy, and whenever it happens I'll probably make a big fuss out of it. Maybe I'd fumble my conversations and fear not making sense, and not make sense precisely because of that. Or maybe I'd make too big a celebration out of nothing.

Eventually I'll brew animosity when everything seems lost, only to realize that the anger I'm letting in my system isn't any fair to everybody involved. I'd be angry at everyone only because it's one's seeming, err, lack of concern.

Eventually I'll admit the wrong things and live as if it was the truth. I'd get bothered at every turn, but would still want to see things and believe as if they weren't all true. I'd imagine selfishness in my eyes and roll back.

Eventually I'll tell everyone about it. In short, I'd probably snap and break promises. I'd probably romanticize myself in front of a crowd, make myself look desparate, and probably lose both credibility and sensibility. After all that, though, I'd lose it, give up, think intermittently and try to move on, even if the damage is done.

Eventually I'll weep in front of the summer sun. Eventually she'd find somebody else. Eventually she'd be happy, and I'd pretend I was similar until something happens and it all goes back.

Eventually I'll realize it has all happened before.

As if it mattered, but it probably will, but my most important excuse probably is that it isn't really the case, that it's simply an exaggeration of misunderstood speculations taken too closely to heart. And I don't know whether telling another person would constitute to something, but there already are thirteen versions to the same story, and mine makes it fourteen.

Sometimes, really, familiarity makes it hurt a lot more.

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