Saturday, April 23, 2011

Now there's gravel in our voices

I call him Peter.
Because Peters always tend to be simple. Simple and uncomplicated.
Peters remind me of Peter the rabbit. Sometimes silly, sometimes naughty, but never really meaning any harm.

The good bits were good, and the bad bits were psychotic. But I suppose, crazy as it sounds, we fed into each other's bouts of insanity, perpetuating the cycle and believing we were just in love when we were tearing each other apart.

We were so bad together, we were so bad for each other. And maybe that's what made us dig our nails in stubbornly.
But after a while, everything hurt. I couldn't get out fast enough and I don't suppose we knew what it meant to be honest with ourselves. Everything, everything that was us, it tore into us and bled out with such an intensity that it burned.

It was warped, it was crazed, and we called it love for as long as we did.

Sometimes, familiarity feels like an ache. Sometimes, it feels like the scratchy fabric on the inside of your new woollen top.

And sometimes, songs ring with such truth that you are brought back to a different time in your life. And you lean out the car window, grateful.
Minutely irritated at the familiarity, but grateful.

Grateful that it's not you.
That it's over.

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