I’ve felt very distant lately. Like even when writing on my own blog I am a stranger, a visitor. And the real Ryan may not be happy with the content that I have written.
But only in I plunge.
I watched Mansfield Park this weekend and thoroughly enjoyed it. But I have liked most of the Jane Austen type movies.
Hmm, I just got bored of complaining about love. I guess I’m not even going to start on it then. It’s making me mad that this always happens to me.
Here are some sentences I wrote:
Since I met you I never let my heart show anymore.
Since you came into my life I remind myself nothing will last forever.
When you enter my thoughts a chill runs though my soul.
You were my lesson to learn to never give my heart out fully again.
Stepped on, left out in the cold, brushed off.
Looked over, quieted when I tried to speak.
You always seemed so gracious to take and receive.
I knew what to expect from you when you stopped calling and coming ‘round.
Despite that I realized you were just playing and I had lost the game.
I still hurt knowing I showed you my hand, trusting you with my heart.
I count myself as part of the blame; I was naïve and a bit ignorant.
I gave my heart to your words, I believed when you said I was special.
Your smile and kind eyes deceived me of the cold truth you kept secret.
Yeah, I know that was just more complaining, that which I wasn’t going to do from the beginning. Maybe I got it out of my system.
I’m learning why the caged bird sings and what it feels like being on the last-chance street car when it goes off the tracks.
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