The Depression Diaries, n°66: You're going to suck at it

Slowly, then all at once. You can describe a lot of things like this, but I chose to use this to exemplify the fact that you got stuck at some point I didn't perceive you're always late. There's this tall person in the entrance of my bedroom and it's always you, but not really. Sometimes you shrink, sometimes I don't know if I've been doing things right and if at some point I'm going to be punished for that. It's only natural for this road to always lead me to you; even in the depths of hell I'd find the road you took. The sad thing is that you're always blindfolded, you never get to see me being the heroine. 

There was this house I've been and despite all the princes and monsters inside it, I never got to be neither of them. My boots makes no sound as I walk upstairs, you clearly know it's not real; there should be a crack crack crack somewhere. Maybe I wanted it to be genuine, maybe I wanted you to look at me in that way that could destroy entire civilizations; my trembling hand is just a sneak peek. Maybe. I don't hate you enough to not love you in such a way, the amount of pain I'd bring knows no boundaries and there's nothing too different about you. I'm not a prince and I'm not a monster, I'm a clock that goes up, goes down, a clock that stops, a clock that people expect to be functional forever. I'm always late, too.

Time hates me and I hate it too, we're sworn enemies living under the same roof. But it don't get to walk around and observe the miscellaneous of colors in the sky when you're sleepy on the grass, I almost forget I should laugh at what you're saying. Not much, you say you want to save yourself from the world, then a smile, dimples and all. I want to really laugh because you're so oblivious, you already did.

People I can't meet in the same timeline are the ones I want to attach myself to, otherwise it all falls in the realm of boredom. I want them to see me dying and not being about to do shit about it, someone has too. I'm scared of being alone and you have to comfort me. In your voice I hear the word "cruel" and I don't care, oh, how lovely would be to vanish from this world in your arms.

I know this is a war I can't win, yet I entered the battlefield alone as if thousand of men were behind me. This losing game is better than being stuck in some point, gagging the words I couldn't say because I got too comfortable. That's you. The sound of your boots can be heard a hundred of miles from where you are, wherever you are. You keep being the pretender and I can't bring myself to give a damn about it, but you should now who you are. You should know that failing to read me perhaps will be one of the worst mistakes of your life, but I'd never push you off this cliff. There are days I don't know what is real and what's in my mind; you are in both and it's so confusing. Your body is not helping my body, but I'd still prefer to burn in your presence; the fire has no chance against the memory of your embrace. If one day the world is meant to fall in a strange and profound darkness, it's because you won. Don't be so mad once you realize I'm too late be by your side in the celebration downstairs, just close your eyes and let your body go with a flow that keeps drifting far, far away from me. You still can't see, but I'm mercilessly giving all I can do for you, all at once; I hope you don't hate me, I hope one day you find gentleness in your heart to accept this present; all the space of the world is yours, do you like it? Is it enough? Keep using my boots that are you small for you and stop being late; jump in the goddamn fire, it can do no harm, bring this world to it's knees for you. Pretend I'm watching and you'll do just fine.