Lamoni Says What?

Hey guys :]

Lamoni here.  I’ve been doing SUPER good lately.  So to finish off my self medication, and to just get it off my chest/mind, I’m gonna write down some random stuff.  Usually I hold this stupid stuff in, but, I’ve decided that if I’m gonna REALLY be completely feeling better about everything, it needs to be said.

Before reading this, please note that this isn’t about one person or whatever.  It’s just a summary of what I truly think love is.  Just because I state something here, doesn’t mean it happened. It means I wish it would have.

I don’t think love is about having a lot to talk about on the phone.

It’s about me being thankful that it’s you I’m having every one of those fucking awkward silences with and hoping that you’re thanking God that it’s me you’re listening to try to come up with random stuff to say to keep your attention. And even more so, it’s not about me actually being able to keep your attention, it’s about me secretly knowing that I have your attention anyways, whether I ask you what your favorite color is, or if you believe in some fictional animal I made up while we were watching a movie in a language neither of us spoke, or if I just lay there in silence because I gave up on trying to make you laugh.  And it’s about you still laughing, even when what I say isn’t funny at all.  You know it wasn’t funny, and I know it wasn’t funny, but you laugh anyways, because I’m the one who said it, and you’re the one that got to hear it (and you’re thankful for that fact).  That’s love.

I don’t think love is about being able to see each other every day.

It’s about how I’d stay up and go to sleep at 10 in the morning on Monday, so by the time I woke up, it’d almost be Tuesday, because I’d get to see you Friday. And it’s about doing that every single day until I saw you.

And it’s about you not caring that I looked like complete shit on Friday from barely getting any sleep all week, because you knew the reason I couldn’t sleep was you.  You’ were just glad that you were the reason I couldn’t sleep instead of some other random myspace girl I randomly started a conversation with. And love is about me cringing as I typed that sentence, because I know you’re not just another myspace girl, and the thought of calling you that, makes me sick.

And love is about the fact that I might as well have had your picture tattoo’d to the back of my eyelids. (And love is about not getting your picture tattoo’d to the back of my eyelids, because I know that no tattoo artist could do your beautiful face justice.  And it’d be pointless, because well, you can’t see the fucking back of your eyelids, duh. And I don’t love you enough to go through that pointless pain.  And love is about you laughing at that statement, because you know for a god damned fact that I love you enough to where I actually would go through that pointless pain if the very odd circumstances came up where I had to go through that for you.  Highly unlikely that I ever would have to do that, but just for the record, I would.)

I don’t think love is about having anything in common.

It’s about you understanding that I’m just a fucking computer geek that likes to sing and play guitar, and being okay with that.  Even though you don’t like any of those things, it shouldn’t matter.  It’s not about loving the same stuff, it’s about loving each other for being weird/eccentric enough to love the things we love.  Peanut Butter and Jelly have almost nothing in common, but they go pretty well together.  Then again, that’s a super lame analogy, because I’m hopefully more complicated than peanut butter (though I’m the same color), and you’re OBVIOUSLY more complicated than jelly, as proven by this stupid fucking blog post of which I’ll regret once I even catch hint you’ve heard of this.

Love is about me wanting to hate your ex-boyfriend that I never knew.

Not because he did anything wrong to me, but because the “ex” and “boyfriend” in his title, means he actually got a shot at being your boyfriend.  And I envy him for having a shot at failing with you, because the only shot I’d ever get to take is the one I’d use to drown your image out of my head if I was weak enough to allow myself to resort to something petty like that.  And I did.

Love is about me being able to list random habits you have.

Even when you insist you don’t have them.  I would know you have them, because I stare at you a lot more than you stare at yourself.  Promise.

Speaking of staring,

Love is when we catch each other staring at each other in a room full of people, and don’t stop.  Even when we know someone’s watching.  It doesn’t matter.  Cause the only thing on my mind is wishing my fucking eyes could sing.  They’re the headphones to my heart’s iPod, and you’d finally be able to hear the whole fucking album my mind has wrote for you.

And then the tables take a turn for the worst.

Love is about wishing I’d have treated you like shit,

because you seem to have fallen for every other guy who treated you that way.

Love is about wishing I’d have ignored every fucking phone call from you,

because if I would have, you would have kept calling.  And you did.  Until I started answering.

Love is about regretting

That I didn’t kiss the hell out of you when I had the chance.

Love is about not talking to you,

because I can’t stand talking to you knowing that you’re not talking back to me with the same wishful thinking as me.

Love is about not talking to you,

because in between every word I say to you, is a thousand other words wishing they were the ones I’d chosen to say instead of the sad excuse of a sentence such as “hey! whats up? :]”.  What the fuck grade am I in, 3rd?

Love is about not talking to you,

because I get tired of having to delete “baby” from the end of my sentences before I message you back, because I still haven’t broken that stupid fucking habit you made me form.

Love is about not talking to you,

because I’m not home to talk to you, because I went on a fucking walk for the first time in my life to get you off my mind.

Love is about not talking to you,

because these days, I know the awkward silences we used to have are of a dying/dead breed.

Love is about not calling you,

because you never fucking answered.  And I love you enough to where I don’t want to hate you anymore than the miniscule amount I did that night.

Love is about me not ever actually hating you,

just hating myself for allowing you to make me hate myself.

Love is about getting over you,

because it’s what you want/wanted me to do.

Love is about the fact that I never LOVED you,

Just wish that I did.  And wishing that you loved me back.

Love is about not finishing this blog,

Because after typing this 2nd half, and reading it, I realize exactly what you do to me, and I hate it.