I woke up on a Sunday morn thinking of the nice things that could be done with you, with Rachael Yamagata playin’ on the turntable. The things that I’d want to do with no one but you. I was picturing us in the kitchen making flapjacks for breakfast when suddenly I Wish You Love played and it hit me that you and I could never ever be.
Cursed is what I am.
If only you’d know how pathological you are.
For years I have been imprisoned by the thought of you.
And for years you have failed to acknowledge that.
Being free is what I desire.
Free from the curse of you.
Worthless is what people make of me.
I have no one but myself to fall back on.
Who am I kidding? The only feeling anyone could ever have for me is repulsion.
I now know.