I still love you when I drink
I still love you when I drink
I’ve always fancied myself a Marshall — concerned about the environment, just wants what’s best for everyone, squishy…
with maybe a little a Robin mixed in — interests my friend have trouble relating to, fear of commitment, weirded out by sappy stuff…
but tonight I had a dreadful realization forget whatever internet quizzes I have probably taken in the past. when it comes to my personal relationships, there is no question: I am Ted Mosby
I am Ted Mosby in so many ways. I’m laid back, but I can also be a pretentious douche. I will talk about the wine, and you bet your booty I’ll be correcting any typos on the menu. I can go on and on about subjects I love, often boring my friends. But again, with relationships…that cinches it. Because two of my best friends are, in this regard, Barney and Robin.
Being Ted Mosby sucks.
failing out of love is so anticlimactic
please help me to separate
the different kinds of love
how can I be the monster
that I am
to love in a way
which is not welcome
either to the victim heart or
to my own weary mind
Here’s something I wrote in one of my old sketchbooks a year or two ago:
Do you love me? Oh, dear, your face—that look—such a shadow had fallen upon your fine features. Have I done that? Oh…no… No, I’ve done it, haven’t I? I’ve sealed our fate, and now we are forever doomed to be apart because of my accursed curiosity. No, please! I see your lips moving, and while I feel certain you are still searching for the words, you must not allow them to escape into the open air. For if the answer is no, well, I simply cannot bear the thought of it; therefore, even if the answer is in the affirmative, I cannot allow you to tell me, because to give you the chance to say yes is to give you the chance to say no. Oh, but you must excuse my terrible rudeness. I’ve not allowed you a single word. Nor shall I. I am sorry, but to give you the chance to speak is to give you the chance to remain silent, and i’d rather continue in my belief that your pause is due to your polite, genteel disposition not allowing you to interrupt the blatherings of a poor, rude, desperate creature such as myself. Oh, my love, if only I hadn’t been so ridiculous as to impulsively ask the stupidest question imaginable, we might have had a real chance! Not a false one as I am currently creating. Dear me, I am running out of words, but I must not stop talking, else you may begin, or, worse, you may not! No, what you must do is walk backwards away from me, yes, just as you are doing now…not too slowly; as I say, I am running out of words, anf how I shall stutter! Yes, even worse than I am now; I am afraid it is possible. So. Back away and I shall keep speaking louder until I am certain I am out of earshot…and you must be out of my visual range, as well, lest I should suddenly develop an aptitude for lip-reading. Yes, keep…I believe that will do, dear. Now, we must never see or hear or speak of one another again. I’m sorry. This is all my fault, but I must remain ignorant of your apathy, should it exist, and…oh, you can’t hear me. I’m alone now. Talking to myself.
Oh, Self. I loved someone very deeply at one time.
They left because I told them to.