hopeless romantic with a lot of feelings

secondary blog for my writing

[theproseshechose]

[theproseshechose]

I am so over getting over you. I've been doing it for years and honestly, I'm starting to think it's one of the things I'm just naturally bad at. Every morning I wake up and think, this is the day I'll be free, and then I see a toothbrush or a shadow or my own stupid face in the mirror, and I'm right back where I started. t's embarrassing how little I've moved on.

You're it. The person. Like the capital-letter kind. There's no denying it anymore, even though I've tried. God, how I've tried. You're the person I measure all other people against, it's unfair to them, really. They walk in and say something like "I prefer dogs over cats" and I think Well, she would never say that. I can't stop doing it. You're the standard, the ruler, the whole damn measuring tape. And I am so tired of pretending otherwise.

I'm tired of pretending I haven't replayed every glance, every half-smile, every second of us that felt like it might have been real. Tired of pretending I don't ache for the sound of your voice and the way it softened when it was just us. I'm tired of pretending I didn't see the way you looked at me. - That look wasn't nothing. It just wasn't. You didn't look at anyone else that way. - Tired of acting like I didn't notice the way you stood closer to me than you had to. Tired of convincing myself your laughter around me wasn't different, wasn't softer, wasn't ours, and of convincing myself I was just imagining things. Because I wasn't. I was someone to you and I know it. I'm done acting like the way you looked at me was just a coincidence. Like we weren't a little bit extraordinary, even if only for a moment. You've always been the person, no matter how many times I've tried to swap you out for someone else — someone easier.

When you disappeared, it felt final. Like a door slamming shut, a light going out. I thought, That's it. That's all I get of you. I cried in grocery store parking lots, in bed, in the shower while the conditioner sat too long in my hair. I cried so much I got bored of crying, which is a weird thing to feel. But now? Now you're back and I don't know if it's luck or destiny or just dumb coincidence, but I want to believe it means something.

I thought you were gone forever and now you're here, or at least close enough to count as here and I get to hope for you again. Do you know how wild that feels? Like winning the lottery and finding out it's not cash, it's something better — time with you. I'm so grateful - stupidly, deliriously grateful for it. And yes, maybe it will hurt. Maybe I will embarrass myself, but I want to hope now.

Honestly, what's left to lose? I've already made every mistake in the book when it comes to you and maybe I'll make a hundred more. But I'd rather make those mistakes, one after another, than sit here wondering what might have been. Hope, when it comes to you, feels like the highest, purest thing I've ever touched. If humiliation is the price of trying, then fine: Here's my dignity. Take it.

If it hurts me, it hurts me. If it crushes me, it crushes me. I don't want to be practical or logical or whatever else it is people tell you to be when the person you love doesn't love you back. I want to hope. For you, I'd fall flat on my face a thousand times and then I'd get back up, knees scraped and teeth gritted... because I know you're worth it.

I just want the chance to show you who I am now. Even if it's only once. Even if it breaks my heart all over again. Even if it's just for one day, one conversation, I want you to see me. To see who I've become. The real me. The one who never stopped looking for you, even when you weren't there. I've become someone you'd recognise and also not recognize, someone you'd be curious about. I've been out in the world and now I have stories and scars and things I know you'd find fascinating, if you'd just let me tell you. You'd look at me and see someone you could sit on the floor with - our knees touching while we talk about everything and nothing until the world fades out.

I'm not a little kid with too many feelings and nowhere to put them. I think you'd be impressed by the way I walk into rooms without apologizing anymore, the way I know things now, the way my hands look now when they're doing things that matter. I wish you could meet the person I became without you, for you. A person who loves you so much it's ridiculous. And you'd probably laugh at me, but that's okay, too. I like the sound of your laugh. Even when it's not for me.

Maxi Merlin

[theproseshechose]

I woke up from my nap feeling a bit disoriented and confused which in my experience comes from too many hours spent trying to just be a person.

My body felt like it had forgotten how to be a body, like it was trying to decide whether it should stay attached to me or just melt into the matress.

My eyes were wide awake though, scanning the entire room and i noticed then, how the light had changed.

Daylight, soft and golden, was sneaking through the blinds and filling the room with a quiet kind of warmth.

After a day that had wrung me out like this one, that left me just a pile of bones and skin on a bed, the light felt like a miracle.

It wasn't the harsh brightness of midday or the dramatic flare of sunset, It was just... light.

Gentle and steady, it slipped through the window casting thin lines across the floor, Inching up the walls as if it was trying not to disturb me, whispering „sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." I saw it in a way I never had before, outlining the edges of things that i had never noticed.

The same walls, the same furniture, the same everything i've always been surrounded by.

My home, the place where i stop being a person, where I let everything slip off me and dissolve into the carpet and now suddenly, the light made it all look sharp and clear like it had been waiting for me to finally see it.

It had always been there, always done this, but i never really looked at it before.

Why would I?

It was just light after all.

Just my room.

It was strange, realising you could live with something, be surrounded by it everyday, and never truly know it.

I guess that's how i'd felt about myself lately, too.

Like I was just passing through my own life, barely aware of the details.

But as I saw the light

it reminded me that there's always something worth noticing.

I stayed there

just watching it

feeling Its warmth on my skin.

Maxi Merlin — Quiet Light

[theproseshechose]

It's strange how wherever I go, you go. Everywhere I visit, you could almost say you've stepped foot there yourself. You're with me all the time, even when I'm by myself. Sometimes when I think I'm alone, there you are blinking behind my eyes.

You're tucked away in the sockets of my skull, seeing everything I see.

I let it seep into you, to where you live inside of me. It's like I've started absorbing you. You're filling up all the spaces in my mind and it's like my insides are stretching out every chance they get just to make more room for you.

Sometimes I think I'm showing you places and letting you in on what I see, but I'm not. You're the one showing me. Maybe I'm living my life through you somehow, we blend together so much at this point that I can't tell where I end and you begin anymore. I can't even really pinpoint a time when it all started.

Maybe it was that first time you said my name in that certain way, or maybe it was when I started catching myself using your words, your pauses, your way of seeing the world.

You see... it's not just that I take you with me wherever I go. I'm becoming you.

You're slowly bleeding into me, drop by drop. Now when I talk, it's your voice that sneaks into my words. When I laugh, it's your laugh-the kind of laugh I didn't know I had in me until you showed up. My hands look like yours now, and I wear things you might wear.

I wonder if you're even aware of it. Maybe you think you're still whole, but you're not.

You're here, in the way hold a mug, in the way I look at things.

You are the air I breathe, like secondhand smoke. When I smell the sea, you're in the salt. When I feel the sun, you're in the warmth. You're the way my breath catches when I see something beautiful, the way I turn my head to notice the smallest details. You're all these little pieces of the world that make it feel like something, even when there's nothing happening.

Maxi Merlin - You were there when I saw the man with the green hat and when I ate that sandwich that tasted like nothing and when the air smelled like wet pavement.

[theproseshechose]

There are no nouns, no verbs, just clumsy noises that vaguely resemble language. My brain is in overdrive.

You'd think I'd be used to you by now. It's been, what, forever? But every time, it's the same -me, struggling to find something remotely intelligent to say, while I'm consumed with the way your hair frames your face like you're the center of some soft-focus film. I watch it fall in waves, and I want to tuck a strand behind your ear, but that would mean touching you, which would mean more brain malfunction, so I just sit there. Useless.

Every logical part of me is telling myself to get it together, but instead, I'm left stumbling over the simplest things, trying to match your grace, while inwardly cursing myself for acting so ridiculous.

I am 17 again, except 17 was yesterday and also ten years ago, and time doesn't make sense.

Nothing makes sense, least of all me, stammering for my life, trying to keep up with the way you talk, the way you exist.

It's that exact feeling - the awkwardness of trying to sound intelligent, while desperately hoping you don't notice how my eyes keep drifting to your arms. I don't even think I've ever been so obsessed with someone's arms, but there I am, staring, hoping you don't catch me.

Why can't I just exist around you like everyone else seems to exist around people they care about?

I'm trying to think of something casual to say, but nothing comes out. I mean I'm glad that at least I'm not saying the wrong thing but I'm also not really saying anything at all.

Don't look at her arms, don't look at her arms.

It's like you unlock this door I didn't even know was still there, the one labeled "Here Lives Insecurity." And then I'm in, and I'm small, and I'm awkward, and I'm very, very bad at pretending to be cool.

And like... do you know? You must know. How could you not? I'm radiating awkwardness like a broken radio station, blaring static, while you just sit there, so... so normal. You're just so you while I'm quietly imploding under the weight of my own nonsense. And the whole time, I'm trying not to think about it. To not let you see how much of a mess I am. But I'm always a mess around you.

I don't know why, but your arms are suddenly the most captivating thing in the world, and I'm doing this mental calculus to look away at exactly the right moment so it's not obvious. Except, it is. So obvious.

Oh god, I'm staring at them.

Is that weird? That I've memorised every line by now, every contour? Like they're this... thing no one else seems to notice. It's embarrassing to admit that I'm fixated, like I'm secretly cataloging all the parts of you I shouldn't be noticing, or should I?

I'm not supposed to notice, but of course, I do. And now I've got this absurd need to tell you how it makes me feel soft inside - is there right way to tell someone that their arms look so good it's genuinely causing a crisis? Because they do, they look that good. But that would be ridiculous, so I don't say it. I don't say anything, I just keep blabbering.

Do you notice me noticing? Because what if you don't notice? What if you're just sitting there so comfortable in your own skin while I'm over here losing my mind, and it doesn't even register to you? Maybe you think this is just how I am and you're used to it not realising it's you that makes me this way. I swear I'm normal with everyone else and I can hold entire conversations without breaking a sweat.

But maybe... you're not oblivious to all of this at all. Maybe you see it all and this is just how we exist together. Maybe you're just letting me be this version of myself and there's some kind of quiet understanding that goes beyond words. And maybe you don't mind knowing how completely you unravel me. Maybe you even like it.

Maxi Merlin — For Her

[theproseshechose]

Nostalgia isn't a trap-it's more like a get-out-of-jail-free card.

It's like when you find five bucks in your pocket you didn't know you had. It's the universe's way of saying,

"Hey, remember this? It was pretty damn great.“

And when it comes to her, yeah, it really was.

Sure, maybe I'm romanticising, but who cares?

I like the way it looks. I like the way she looks.

In my head, forever laughing, forever young.

Maxi Merlin — untitled

[theproseshechose]

There are no nouns, no verbs, just clumsy noises that vaguely resemble language. My brain is in overdrive.

You'd think I'd be used to you by now. It's been, what, forever? But every time, it's the same -me, struggling to find something remotely intelligent to say, while I'm consumed with the way your hair frames your face like you're the center of some soft-focus film. I watch it fall in waves, and I want to tuck a strand behind your ear, but that would mean touching you, which would mean more brain malfunction, so I just sit there. Useless.

Every logical part of me is telling myself to get it together, but instead, I'm left stumbling over the simplest things, trying to match your grace, while inwardly cursing myself for acting so ridiculous.

I am 17 again, except 17 was yesterday and also ten years ago, and time doesn't make sense.

Nothing makes sense, least of all me, stammering for my life, trying to keep up with the way you talk, the way you exist.

It's that exact feeling - the awkwardness of trying to sound intelligent, while desperately hoping you don't notice how my eyes keep drifting to your arms. I don't even think I've ever been so obsessed with someone's arms, but there I am, staring, hoping you don't catch me.

Why can't I just exist around you like everyone else seems to exist around people they care about?

I'm trying to think of something casual to say, but nothing comes out. I mean I'm glad that at least I'm not saying the wrong thing but I'm also not really saying anything at all.

Don't look at her arms, don't look at her arms.

It's like you unlock this door I didn't even know was still there, the one labeled "Here Lives Insecurity." And then I'm in, and I'm small, and I'm awkward, and I'm very, very bad at pretending to be cool.

And like... do you know? You must know. How could you not? I'm radiating awkwardness like a broken radio station, blaring static, while you just sit there, so... so normal. You're just so you while I'm quietly imploding under the weight of my own nonsense. And the whole time, I'm trying not to think about it. To not let you see how much of a mess I am. But I'm always a mess around you.

I don't know why, but your arms are suddenly the most captivating thing in the world, and I'm doing this mental calculus to look away at exactly the right moment so it's not obvious. Except, it is. So obvious.

Oh god, I'm staring at them.

Is that weird? That I've memorised every line by now, every contour? Like they're this... thing no one else seems to notice. It's embarrassing to admit that I'm fixated, like I'm secretly cataloging all the parts of you I shouldn't be noticing, or should I?

I'm not supposed to notice, but of course, I do. And now I've got this absurd need to tell you how it makes me feel soft inside - is there right way to tell someone that their arms look so good it's genuinely causing a crisis? Because they do, they look that good. But that would be ridiculous, so I don't say it. I don't say anything, I just keep blabbering.

Do you notice me noticing? Because what if you don't notice? What if you're just sitting there so comfortable in your own skin while I'm over here losing my mind, and it doesn't even register to you? Maybe you think this is just how I am and you're used to it not realising it's you that makes me this way. I swear I'm normal with everyone else and I can hold entire conversations without breaking a sweat.

But maybe... you're not oblivious to all of this at all. Maybe you see it all and this is just how we exist together. Maybe you're just letting me be this version of myself and there's some kind of quiet understanding that goes beyond words. And maybe you don't mind knowing how completely you unravel me. Maybe you even like it.

Maxi Merlin — For Her

[theproseshechose]

I thought about us today in the way that makes my chest feel like it's on fire. I mean, I thought about you every day after we said goodbye, except we never really did. This thing between us always felt unfinished, like we hadn't even scratched the surface of something really important. I just can't help but keep imagining what it could have been like if we hadn't been pressed for time and the world hadn't already decided how long we were allowed to know each other.

I wish I could've stayed with you longer, just to see where it would go and to let whatever we had find its shape. But we were always rushing towards an end we knew we couldn't avoid. You knew that too. Maybe that's why you never let it get too deep. You liked me. I know that. You liked me in that easy, noncommittal way like someone who wasn't planning to stay, but I kept hoping you would. I don't know why. Maybe because I wanted to matter to you. But you kept me at arm's length, just far enough away so I wouldn't break when I inevitably had to leave.

You were always careful like that, always kind. You knew exactly where this was headed, where it had to go, while I was still hoping for something else, something more. But... that's the thing. I kept thinking you'd open the door wider and let me in sometime, but you didn't. You smiled at me like I was someone you liked but didn't need, and I smiled back like I was fine with that. But I wasn't. I never was. And ultimately, I left and tried to move on because I had to, and you let me go because you were always going to.

You said something once about "doing the right thing.," but all I could think about was how unfair it was that right and wrong had already been decided for us. I wanted to look back at you and say

"don't let me go." I wanted to shout "stay with me." Not because we were in love or because I thought we were right for each other... but because we could have been something if we just tried. I dream about that. About us. About the moments we didn't get and the conversations that never happened. I wonder if you think about it too sometimes. If you wonder what we might have been, if things had been different or the world had given us just a little bit more time.

Maybe you don't. Maybe you think this was just something that happened. Something you could forget when the day ended, like wiping crumbs off the counter. I never got to wipe my counter clean. I always held on to the crumbs, thinking they'd maybe tum back into bread if I just kept them long enough. Like, there you are, just living in your effortless way while I'm walking around with a thousand "what ifs" bouncing around in my head like loose change.

What if I'd stayed? What if you'd stopped me? What if, instead of saying goodbye, you'd grabbed my arm and said, "Wait, we're not done here"? What if we'd become closer? What if this isn't the end? What if, one day, we find our way back to each other, not in the same way but in some other form?

Sometimes I imagine us years from now, sitting at some café, pretending like we don't remember how we could've been more. We'll talk about the weather, the places we've been, our new favourite books. You'll laugh at something small, and I'II look at you like nothing ever slipped away. We'll keep it light, harmless. But in the space between words, I'll wonder what it would feel like to be honest. To say, "I think about you all the time." But I won't say it. Instead, we'll finish our coffee and exchange a polite smile

But this time, as I get up to leave, I don't move. I stay. I sit back down, right across from you, and I stare at your hands for just a second too long and without hesitation, I reach out and grab them just to stop you from drifting away again.

Maxi Merlin — Over Before It Began

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin — bananas, milk, you, you, you

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin — It's Your Birthday And The Sun Forgot

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin — untitled

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin - Rat Boy

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin - The Nothing Man

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin — Gone

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin — Paralyzed

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin — no title

[theproseshechose]

Maxi Merlin — How To Sedate You