Am I psycho?
It's a question I face often enough, when my brain deems it acceptable to ask it, based on the circumstances. Most often than not it's in the aftermath of a loss, but sometimes in between too. More often than not it's after I forget too quickly, after I regain my positive carelessness too fast. Getting over someone after days of total absence, realizing you never loved someone, realizing it was all fake like orange tan. Sprayed on, flaking on the edges.
Where did all promises go? When did I stop caring? When did I stop thinking about what once set my world on fire?
I can, I know I can. Sometimes it's just too damn overwhelming, it burns me inside out and it's just passion, intense, terrifying. Other times it's soft, easy. And then there's the time when I just need to do it, I have forced myself into it times aplenty, but there's always this ability, this easy detachment, flying out of myself and suddenly nothing matters anymore. Happy smile on the face, but really there's nothing behind it. It's just the mask over the void.
It used to be spontaneous, but now it's more a trick I can trigger, like I can trigger anything else in my mind, and the pictures painted on my brain's walls mean nothing anymore. I can fall in and out of love with you on the same evening, week after week. Makes me wonder if I cling to things because I'm scared of realizing I don't need or want them at all. Will I miss you if you're gone?
And why is that scary? Because then all my dreams are moot, and if all my dreams are moot, and all I fight for is myself, and I can be gone too, what's the point at all? So I stay stuck here, sitting on the fence. Do I really have to choose?