we are in this supposed age of enlightenment, where we can have 'arrangements', unromantic encounters, oh, we're so mature, pretending that it doesn't matter. we pretend so fucking well that it starts to become truth; and you just don't matter anymore.
you're just a warm patch in a cold bed, keeping place until the next body comes along.
and she, she's become too good at this. she's beating 'em at their own game.
(i'm like, half kerouac, half pamela debarres. i speak in confessionals. i breathe rockandroll and heartache. trust me. i've already had a few lifetimes' worth)
but i must say, when you can find someone, someone that you can have a true, honesttogod, 'nsa' (just typing that makes me cringe) agreement with, it can be fun. comforting. gleefully naughty and honest.
but on the other hand... if you have any shred of emotion left for that person, then you're fucked. i definitely do not recommend it, unless you've had a good year's worth of distance.
how do i know this, you ask?
well... let's just say i've experienced both ends of that spectrum, in my modest lifetime. it's enough to make you sick, really. and sometimes i beat myself up about it, having become this cruel, soulless thing, leaving a trail of bruised egos in my wake. but for all the damage i've done, it pales in comparison to the hurt inflicted upon me. or, well, maybe i'm just too sensitive.
at any rate... i'm ready for the rollercoaster to end. enough of this emotionless bedhopping and feigned interest... i want something with substance. no more of this foolishness, either. no more blindly falling head over heels, and enough of the mister good-for-rightnows. i'm done done done.
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