Monday, April 18, 2011
The thing is, the thing about this thing is, it doesn't care. It doesn't care if it's sunny or if you're in love or in like or in a place where all roads lead to happy, it creeps. It creeps in and you're crying on the 101 listening to a song about being in somewhere in London. And you don't know why, and you cry because you don't. And you cry because it's coming back, and you cry because you are so mad at yourself for crying. Scared. And yes there's the pills and the therapist but that makes it official. That's opening the doors inviting it in, saying sit on my chest and my heart and just creep on in. And it doesn't care that you've been fine you are fine, that this timing is off. Is it ever on? And you phone a friend and pretend, and you ask about the weather because it's all too hard to explain. And in these moments you think happiness is not a choice, cause I'm choosing so hard, I want for everything I have to choose so hard. That if only I could make up my mind, but it doesn't care, if you could and should be happy. it just creeps.