I went to Dave's last night, he's been on my case lately about coming over to see his new place. You know the song Dead end street by the Kinks. That's pretty much it. Even though it speaks to the fuck all, let's live on nothing, get fucked and make brilliant music, hippie romantic in me I don't know if could ever live like that. Never tried. Dave seems happy though.
After being trapped in my own flat with Sebastian and some northern light for a couple of days it wasn't much of a challenge to resist having a puff on one of Dave's three spliffs. Only three in 5 hours or whatever. Impressive. I also stood my ground when it came to closeness and made sure that every attempt to get even slightly intimate was acknowledged and made awkward. Making things awkward, one of my many talents when it comes to relationships and social situations in general.
I was doing fine till the sandman came knocking. That's when I realized how difficult it is to be in bed with someone who genuinely likes you, listen to Warpaint and stay on your side of the bed. Yes, you heard me, he genuinely likes me. What? Guys never really like me. They think they do but in the long run I'm always too manly, too girly, too quiet, too loud or simply too psycho. I suppose it's fair play, I never like them for long. Most of them get on my nerves faster than I can say boyfriend.
This one though, likes me. (???I think???) We have barely spoken since March after "he took a hint and got lost". His own words. I guess I was quite open with him from the start, let him know that I can only get so close to someone. So what the fuck did I go and do all this for? Huh?
Note to self: Just because you made a pact with Saga to stop being boring and stop turning everything down that doesn't mean you should go and make things complicated and mess with your own head. Complicated does not equal fun.
I like him. I like him more than anyone I've ever been with, but I still don't want to be with him. Then he strokes my hair, doesn't think I'm a freak for wanting to lay down on the floor and listen to Arthur Brown and stare at the ceiling, and I just can't help but going back. He really is the sweetest guy. Then I find myself in his bed unable to sleep because my mind is too busy having minor panic attacks. Feeling all trapped and stuff.
Time to stop mindfucking myself, get some sleep and get a life.
Feel free to laugh at my sad, tired and broken mind. This one is on me.
Btw, who would've guessed that he would be the first one ever to notice that it's pretty much impossible to define the colour of my eyes. Lame.
Oh and Dave if you happen to stumble over this blog and read this: hallå tusse :D