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  • dearabi

Thinking ‘Bout You.

I’ve been sitting here for the past few weeks thinking about you. Everytime I sit in front of my laptop, I spend the first 20 minutes just … thinking about you. What went wrong, but felt so right – at the time. 

I’ve written 1, 2, 3, 4. Four separate posts for you. To read, and misinterpret like the smile on my face and quiver in my lip. But I don’t have the heart to hit “publish,” and I have too much heart to hit “trash”. So they remain drafts in folder and collect dust in my mind, while I sit here and think about you.

I want to tell you things. The things you could never understand because you’re a man and dense and oblivious and withhold information thinking you’re doing nothing wrong when you know damn well what you’re doing except everytime I try to explain, your stupidity dumbfounds me so much I can no longer articulate myself. SEE? I’M DOING IT AGAIN!

I want to tell you you’re selfish. (I was so giving.) I want to slap you. (I want to slap myself.) I want to tell you you’re an asshole. (I’m an idiot.) I want to tell you you’re fucked up. (I allowed it). I want to explain for the 10th time that I GET IT. (I wish I didn’t). I want to explain for the 11th time that YOU DON’T GET IT. (I wish you did). I want to let you know that with the exception of the last time, you manipulated the situation all the other times. (My fault). I want you to UNDERSTAND. (I want to stop understanding). I want to tell you it takes two to tango. (I want to stop dancing). I want to beat on your chest with my tiny fists. (While I cry into your neck because I’m so short.)

But most of all – I want you I want to stop thinking about you. (No argument there.)

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