The thing about on/off relationships is… They’re great until they’re not, they’re the things of dreams, until, suddenly, you’re living a nightmare. They’re the perfect song, on a broken record. They’re a great book, possibly the greatest, but with key chapters missing. They’re breakfast in bed on a powder blue morning, and then days in bed, without eating. They’re breakups that you don’t know how to mourn, because you can’t fathom that this one, this is the last.
They’re drunk break-up sex and drunk make-up texts at 3am. They’re feeling cheated and feeling guilty. They’re feeling loved, they’re feeling special.
They’re intoxicating. Because you keep making the same mistakes, over and over again, because you keep falling into the same pattern. They’re familiar and safe, and like a home you come back to - no matter where, or how broken - it’s a home no less; they know you and you know them.
But see, the thing is, after a while, you no longer hear the music on the broken record - you just hear silence; and you no longer care about the characters, you just want the book to end. Every off, every break chips away.
At some point you realize that love should be more than drunk-3am-s that make you afraid that life will never be that perfect again. At some point you no longer want love to be a roller coaster.
Or so I’ve heard. I hope it’s true. But right now, if you called and asked me to - I’d go back, I’d do it all over again.
Não me venha com esse papo de fim do mundo: o mundo acaba todos os dias desde que o mundo é mundo.