September 15, 2016
My dear vague diary,
It’s just easier to be disappointed.
Earlier on. Before I get attached.
Yes, it is unfair.
Yes, I am aware.
I know he has yet to do anything wrong—
Typically he’s a neatly wound cluster of tight perfection so far.
But if I expect nothing, nothing is disappointing.
And if I continue to expect disappointment, then I’m not disappointed.
And on the wheels turn.
When Jack leaves Jill for another woman,
Jill’s rose-tinted glasses shatter,
And every woman becomes a whore,
And every man a screw-up.
He threw up his alcohol onto the mopped tiles of my abandonment issues.
I threw up my hands to something I thought was imaginary.
I’m clarifying this is not the case in every case.
This is not a frozen moment I’m stuck in.
It’s an inner dread I’m emotionally bound to.
It’s every previous feeling of excitement that ripped out of my perfectly tight cluster of neatness,
And messed it up.
He dressed it up in a big blue bow of future baby names and wedding dress shopping and all the words I’ve never heard,
But I unwrapped a turd.
I’m unattached because I’m running after a cycle of hopes and dreams and I keep falling,
Because I forget I’m wearing my rose-tinted glasses.
Prince Charming starts to look like Rumpelstiltskin when you take them off,
And they shatter.
It’s easier to be disappointed earlier on.
But it has been too long.
If he were to disappoint me now, I’d be gone.
So I keep touching my face in fear.
I keep touching my face to search for rose-tinted glasses.
The real reason I use soap in the bathroom.
September 20, 2016
It's just easier to be disappointed.
A story about a boy.
August 1, 2016
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