maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me
I don’t want to wait for the down-set date
The days passed and my mind started to play with me. He didn't say a thing. It was obvious, he didn't mean anything of all the thing he said and did the other night. He didn't liked me, he just felt sorry for me. There were moments where I was super positive, and think it was evident that he likes me, and he was too shy for telling me. But most moments were of self-hate.
A week passed. If he likes me, he would told me. If I were him, I'd tell what I feel in a second. But, there's been a week. He don't want me. Who would want me? He is the tall, cute band boy. I'm just a girl. A very fat, scared, disgusting, ugly girl. Who would ever want me? The only boys that I've been with, they were all drunk or high, at parties, and nobody ever called back. He's not the exception. I'm gonna die alone with lots of cats, named for the loves that never were.
My mind was playing, it loved to play. And as the days went by, my positives ideas vanished. And every little stupid thing were justificatives of why he didn't like me. I don't like Nutella, definitely he hates because of it.
It was the third week of silence. I lost faith. All I had to do was wait, but it was too late. All my faith and self-esteem were gone. I resigned to loneliness. I couldn't forget him. He was all that I had in my mind. I would never forget him. His words of that night continued resonating in my ears, as if he were saying them in that exact moment. ''We should kiss, just to break the tension''. Fuck, I'm such a stupid, thinking that he actually meant that.
It was a wednesday, when my alarm rang. I got up. I gotta go to work. I took off my clothes and got in the shower. I felt particulary fat. I grabbed a blade and ran it across my arm. I cutted in the last weeks, but today I went a little bit deeper. The water under my feet stained red quickly. My arm burned, because of the water that ran by it, but it didn't felt that bad. I finished my shower and bandaged my arm, just in case. I put on some underwear, black jeans, my purple vans and a long sleeved black and white shirt. Since I work on a music shop, I didn't have to worry that much about my look, it was natural. I did my makeup and dried my hair. I grabbed my phone and keys and went out.
I wasn't in the mood of doing anything. And there were practically no customers. So I decided that if Mike didn't say anything to me by the time it was four weeks since the night of the party, I'd kill myself. Or try again, at least. I didn't wanted to live anymore. I didn't have any incentive of staying alive. I always wanted to do it, so, what's the difference?
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Jaime. ''Party on friday at my place, you coming? (:'' Oh, no. Not another stupid party. But well, if I'm going to end my life, at least a party the day before so I can get drunk and maybe have a little fun before I leave. ''Sure'', I replied.
A week passed. If he likes me, he would told me. If I were him, I'd tell what I feel in a second. But, there's been a week. He don't want me. Who would want me? He is the tall, cute band boy. I'm just a girl. A very fat, scared, disgusting, ugly girl. Who would ever want me? The only boys that I've been with, they were all drunk or high, at parties, and nobody ever called back. He's not the exception. I'm gonna die alone with lots of cats, named for the loves that never were.
My mind was playing, it loved to play. And as the days went by, my positives ideas vanished. And every little stupid thing were justificatives of why he didn't like me. I don't like Nutella, definitely he hates because of it.
It was the third week of silence. I lost faith. All I had to do was wait, but it was too late. All my faith and self-esteem were gone. I resigned to loneliness. I couldn't forget him. He was all that I had in my mind. I would never forget him. His words of that night continued resonating in my ears, as if he were saying them in that exact moment. ''We should kiss, just to break the tension''. Fuck, I'm such a stupid, thinking that he actually meant that.
It was a wednesday, when my alarm rang. I got up. I gotta go to work. I took off my clothes and got in the shower. I felt particulary fat. I grabbed a blade and ran it across my arm. I cutted in the last weeks, but today I went a little bit deeper. The water under my feet stained red quickly. My arm burned, because of the water that ran by it, but it didn't felt that bad. I finished my shower and bandaged my arm, just in case. I put on some underwear, black jeans, my purple vans and a long sleeved black and white shirt. Since I work on a music shop, I didn't have to worry that much about my look, it was natural. I did my makeup and dried my hair. I grabbed my phone and keys and went out.
I wasn't in the mood of doing anything. And there were practically no customers. So I decided that if Mike didn't say anything to me by the time it was four weeks since the night of the party, I'd kill myself. Or try again, at least. I didn't wanted to live anymore. I didn't have any incentive of staying alive. I always wanted to do it, so, what's the difference?
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Jaime. ''Party on friday at my place, you coming? (:'' Oh, no. Not another stupid party. But well, if I'm going to end my life, at least a party the day before so I can get drunk and maybe have a little fun before I leave. ''Sure'', I replied.
8/13/13