As soon as I start writing -
I know it isn’t a good sign.
Why is it that I never write
about anything good?
Maybe I’m afraid I’ll
gynx the good luck.
Am I slowly giving into
you, because I’ve always liked you?
Or am I giving into something that is
easy– who am I kidding this is not easy.
Nothing ever really is.
I say I’m lonely -
but, when someone reaches out...
I walk away
I think it gives me an odd sense of
control in my life
In a sick way it’s like I’m controling
theirs too– not being able to see me
Like I’m so damn important.
I think what freaks us out the most,
is that we hurt because
of the decisions we decide... not to make.
Maybe we should just go on and do
the damn thing allready.

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Ada Pardo

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