So tired of running after love.

So bloody tired, dejected, disillusioned.

Exhausted.

Of making fruitless efforts, meaningless compromises.

Of misunderstanding, and being misunderstood.

Of having it all thrown back into my face.

Of emotional roller coasters and the psychological nausea induced by them.

Of craving for just a hint of what I have given to you. To both of you.

Of the humiliation, the embarrassment, the futile hope.

Of how utterly useless these exercises are.

Of being taken for granted.

Of being wanted but not loved.

Of lusting after a genuine I love you.

Of you laughing it off and not being able to sum up even a sliver of the appropriate emotions.

And you for disappearing when I need you the most.

So easy for you to tell me to stop “running after love, waiting for it to come instead”, when you have it all down on a platter.

And so fucking easy for you to laugh my ranting off.

To disregard what I might feel like, both of you. Leaving me to shout at walls.

Permanent heart/head/stomach aches.

Stop forgetting about my existence, please. Stop taking me for granted. I am bloody sick of being a friend to you. Just sick of not being given the response I would die for.

And to the rest of the world, stop bloody whining about how your body aches, how it’s so meaningless when you’re not together, how it’s not working out.

At the very fucking least there is someone who would give up their existence just so you could have the life they want you to have, someone who thinks every bit of you is delicate porcelain, someone who fucking worships you, wants to spend every living moment with you.

I feel like I’m squeezing out love, wringing it out of my heart, to give to those who have none for me in return.

Believeyoume.

It hurts more than I care to admit to your face, that I make the same mistakes every damn time and it always ends up in me overdosing on Damien Rice and company.

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea