Category: ThisPostCouldHaveBeenASkeet

doomed romances do for me what I think true crimes do for the girlies

But I invite you to question those certainties and break them down into its atomic parts. What do you know of me? What have you heard of me? What have you heard from me? How much of your shape of me comes from experience and how much of that are inferences based in your wants and minimal information?

I know you think you know you want this, but truly it’s the path of least resistance into the unknown. The idea that a path somewhere is still better than no path forward.

I know you think you know you want this, but I’m not even sure that your this and my this are the same, they express different thi(ng)s.

I remember that time I failed you in a catastrophic way. It would have been the stuff of legends. The kind of mistakes I like to make, because hell or glory and nothing in between are the only things I accept. I remember the horror in my gut when I realized what I had (not) done, and the sudden release because it didn’t matter anymore. Those were preparations for a happy path, and we were now in crisis mode. It didn’t matter anymore, if anything, it was one less worry at a time where our well crafted plans were melting.

I know you probably don’t remember, and if you do I’m even more baffled than before. But I haven’t been able to let it go even today.

What a predicament when the only thing standing between me and failure are my own skills (which are very hit or miss) and a bit of luck (which I’d rather not court if at all possible).

I know you think you know you want this, but how can I trust that you know what I know?

• Why?
  • Why not?
• Why (yes)?
  • Just because ([I think] I can).