a passive aggressive secret admirer

None of this was written by me.

Snow and rain are really similar.  They’re both cold and they both suck.  They both become liquid on contact, although rain’s technically liquid before that point.  And they both stick to the glass of your apartment’s windows like tiny translucent lenses—warped gateways into different universes.  Water droplets on a window remind me of mini-mirrors and mini-worlds only enterable if you look hard and long enough.

The floors are almost caramel colored, faded, and come in all different hues and shades.  It’s an old place.  The walls are snow white you tell me, even though white and snow white are literally the same exact thing, with globs of dried colors here and there—you’re a painter and a messy one too.  I go on a treasure hunt of sorts every time I’m here, searching for new colors and new dots or old colors and old dots previously glossed over by my unobservant eyes.  They’re like the tiny little birth marks that traverse your body and break up the monotony of your beige skin.

They’re, truly, beautiful.  A lot of you is beautiful.

I wanted to write this story describing two people in a really self-destructive relationship.  One loved the other unconditionally and affectionately, but the other even though he recognized this love, appreciated it, and did on some level reciprocate couldn’t do so completely.  It would’ve been from the point of view of the one that’s incapable of love and it would’ve describe a bunch of the emotions, realizations he’d come to and things like that.  At the end, as he recognized that despite the fact the he did love her at times that he’d always get up and leave because those emotions were always fleeting and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get them to stay.

Because he’s a fucking [redacted].

Whenever I write about you I do it because I like you even though you clearly don’t.  Whenever I write about you I don’t look at my screen or my keyboard.  I look at anything and everything else.  I don’t look because I’m scared that I will delete it once I start reading it and that I won’t be able to express honestly and earnestly, that my dignity and self-respect will get the best of me.  I’m usually proud of myself by the time I’m done because I’ve been typing for awhile and my fingers are a little sore, I’m sure there are plenty of spelling mistakes but textedit (fuck MicroSOFT Word) and I have a pretty good chemistry going.  Whenever I finish writing about you, I take a deep breath, wipe away any residual tears and emotions that may or may not have come up during this epic trek, and I look at what I’ve written.

And every single time all I end up writing is:

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU POOPFACE FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU YOU UNLOVING BITCH FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU JACKASS FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU ASSHOLE FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU SLUT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCKING BITCH FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCKING CUNT

Crap.  Maybe I’m not quite ready yet.

Fuckin’ bitch.

 


This is just some cool stuff I’ve collected over the years. No, that’s a lie. It was all written by a friend who deleted his blog but I liked the stuff so much that I creepily saved it. Upon rereading it today, I appreciated it, so I wanted to repost it as a throwback. The lesson to learned from this is to watch what you post on the internet because besides the government and people who have access to these servers and whatnot, some creeper might be saving all that you put on the internet.

3 thoughts on “a passive aggressive secret admirer

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