August from September never looked as green (idea)

Because nothing is perfect and right with the world when we're together. When you hold me, its always too loose or tight, and we never kiss the right way. You never inhale my thoughts and worries through my lips, and I'm always worried I'm doing something wrong. Time never stands still when we're together, and maybe if you were taller or prettier or if you wore awesome geek glasses I might like you better. I know sometimes you think things about me that I wish you didn't, but I do too. For you and me. I can't look into your eyes and know what you're thinking and feeling, you don't have a distinctive taste or feel.

I am often pining for someone else more strongly than I'm pining for you.

Sometimes, you're so goofy and childish that I want to slap the ugly right out of you. I worry constantly that I don't love you as much as I used to, and more often than not, the answer is yes: I don't love you like I used to.

You're not here and that’s a problem sometimes, but I never want you to visit. I'm never really content with our relationship, and I'm constantly thinking of reasons for why she still hates me, despite all claims to the opposite, for why I'm not what you actually want.

Your thumbs are ugly.

I feel stupid when I'm with you and even stupider when I'm not. Our time together is fleeting and I can't even talk to you when I know you're there because I'm afraid you don't want me to.

Even though you tell me all the time you do.

I'm insecure and so are you. We're not meant to be and we'll never get married. I don't want to have your baby. You always want to talk about philosophy and abstracts... I want to talk about us. I want to talk about who we are and why we're together, what you think about it, because you're still a bigger mystery to me than you should be.

You tell me things you thought before about me, and laugh, but I shudder knowing that for that you're a completely different person. You don't get it. Mostly because I don't tell you.

I agonized over three sentences for more than a month, told you only because it caused you pain when I let it slide that there was something to tell.

I know you're smarter than almost everyone else I know, I know you're talented in more ways than you know, I know you like They Might Be Giants and know a lot more big words than I do.

You ask me questions or say things with the big words, and I run to the dictionary to look them up before responding. The wonder of our relationship, where I am consistently without flaw, and yet am flaw, all at the same time.

Pictures of us together make me wonder how you can look so intense.

I want to die when you tell me about a time I told you something, and I know that I don't remember it happening because it was a lie.

And then one of your most cherished memories of us was under the stars, and you think I was with you, contemplating the universe, but I wasn't.

I was thinking that I was the worst fucking girlfriend in the world. I was thinking that I should break up with you. I was wondering what time it was and when I could go home and cry and call someone who might understand the way you would.

Minus the pain.

I forced something out that sounded childish and ignorant in my baby voice that they were beautiful and infinite and it made my head hurt.

I blinked away the tears that blurred the stars in the middle of the city, as we lay on her.

I think about the fact that you don't give me goose bumps or electric shocks in my toes. Sometimes it tickles when you lay your hand on my thigh.

I think about what we lost. I think about why we lost it.

I can close my eyes and remember that night, thinking it was time for happening. I can remember every detail of those moments but your face. Your face and voice are never there.

Fireworks that weren't supposed to be came, and I wondered if it meant anything, because I'm a child of pop culture and I watch too much television.

I thought about Kevin and Winnie and how we were nothing like them.

I'm thinking now that that was the moment that I cried my first real tears over you. The moment that I stopped hugging like it meant something to me.

Because at that moment it didn't.

I played games and I was a sitcom and you cared but I didn't really. We've never been the same since then. Or maybe you have.

You don't change. You got a haircut and you looked like an ex marine with flashbacks but you were still what you were before.

I can blame a million people for what happened to us. Everyone is at fault for what I've gone through and at the same time, only I can hurt myself.

She was right before and maybe she's right now.

You're so easy to get over.

I still want to talk to you and hear your voice and hear your breath over the phone because you have nothing to say now that we're apart. I want to hear you coax speech from me; I want to feel insecure and inferior. I want you to tell me something that's only true when you say it, maybe that I'm beautiful or fun to talk to. I want to never, ever be first to hang up.

I want everything to stay the same because when we change we screw up.

Somehow I want you to find this and read it and let it be the catalyst for our inevitable end.

I want to know why you make me feel like I'm dead and living at the same time, why I hate you so much and at the same time I don't think I can live without you. Why I know I love you, and yet question it every day.

You're not God and I'm an agnostic, but it makes me wonder if its you, replacing my basic need for a God. You are my spiritual breakdown. You keep me up at night and I wonder why I keep old symbols of you around. I am alternating, wanting to see you again and again and not wanting to see you at all. I love you and wonder why you've failed me or drowned all those babies.

I hate myself for loving and for hating you. Maybe it would be better not to know you. But that’s what got me in trouble in the first place, right?

(You do know everything.)

Maybe I could give up on you and find someone to fill in for you and God.

And layer upon layer I will drown myself one day at a time, until the last lover is here and I am so weighed down with these idols that I will feel nothing for Him at all.

I will be hard and flat and opaque. There more will come after him, and finally I have been pushed into the ground, under the weight of you and your layers and your beautiful intricacies.

There I will not be dead.

There I will not be, I will be your worst abstract nightmare.

But I will always remember you.

You, and how much I loved you and how you could never be undone.

Baby's first deity.