Random stuff

I really don’t want to resemble her. I’m afraid, maybe if I say that word, if I do that thing, if a kiss right there or I touch right here… Don’t want to think you might be telling me the same things you told her once… and I don’t doubt you mean it, but I also know you already felt that way. And it doesn’t matter how many times you swear she’s not in your mind anymore. It’s just… sheer stubbornness and a desire of the uniqueness I will never have. Your happiness must be composed by a lot of moments with her, and that’s killing me. Because, try as I might, I can’t erase your past, and mine either. I wish I could, though. Sometimes I feel out of place, like I’m an odd element in your life, sometimes… but that’s what I imagine, truth is I’ve always thought I couldn’t share my life with someone, I used to watch that role from the outside, to be an spectator, I liked to live my life through others, to admire or hate relationships, not getting involved. I’m not familiar with being the leading lady of the situation, because, in that case, I should admit my mistakes, control my feelings, manage something that is out of my control, and all those things are uncomfortable for me. I’ve always thought I wasn’t ready for that; I could only criticize and give advices even though I never had the finest idea of what I was talking about. See…there’s a point when you believe you’ll be the eternal spinster, resented with the world and with yourself. You start considering that pathetic role as something positive, even funny. And here you are, challenging my capability of losing my fears, each day there’s a new thing I discover and I’m trying not to escape, that would be the worst failure in my entire life. And I think about her, she knew how to be with you, she managed to stay with you for a while, and then she was such a fool she lost you. She even makes me pity, because I know that finding you is the best thing that can happen to someone, and lose you must be the worst. I don’t want to become her, I don’t want to fuck it up. And all those pictures, all those memories, all those places, movies, songs, all those jokes and laughs and all that love… now they're hidden, maybe gone, but they existed. What if she was better than me? What if she had that something that drove you crazy? What if I’m not enough? What if the things you like about me are the ones I have in common with her? Thing is I’ll never know, because even if I asked you and you answered me word for word, there will always be something there, and it might not be important for you, but for me it’s essential… that little something is what I’m missing, or what I’m unconsciously copying. That little something is what makes our relationship less especial. But forget about this, it’s not like you make me feel this way, it’s just me again… I’d only like to put down in words everything, every useless detail, to exaggerate it and write some crap, and that’s all.