Live Like Me.

You could say it's like High Fidelity, when Rob goes through one of those phases. The whole, "what does it mean," phase. But, you could also say I compare my life to High Fidelity a little too frequently. It's like Say Anything, when Lloyd will do anything just to win over the heart of Diane Court. No matter what she does to keep him away. Where is my Lloyd Dobler? And a stranger would say I watch too many John Cusack movies; but a true friend knows if Johnny Depp was available, he was probably my first choice.
So, then, what does it all mean? I want to be the sophisticated Charlie, who was too sophisticated to be with a guy named Rob. I want my cigarette to lie inside of a black holder, while I sip on a glass of wine, and intertwine my smooth legs underneath a little black dress. I want to talk and talk and talk; having someone in the room actually give a shit about the nonsense I am saying. I want to be so exotic that boys get scared, but men make dares to stay. And I will never be Charlie because I am too weak.
I don't understand the current situations; what does it all mean? I try whatever I can to leave this state, but in the end, everything fails. I've been promised road trips by men in flannel shirts, but now their shirts are taken off by other women, other girls. My high school sweet heart doesn't live in this town; no run ins, no cures for my loneliness. I have lowered my standards in the best of situations, only to be rejected by the second morning. No matter how many pounds I wake up early to shed, it doesn't seem to change anything. You may look at me, but you still never see me. And the chocolate on my bed stand is looking so much sweeter than you.
What does it all mean? The next time someone promises eternity, all I can do is laugh. Because that's what I should have done in the past. We're too young to make promises based on teenage hormones. I don't want a little boy with his face in front of videogames, basing my sucess on past relations.
So, what does it all mean? I am an indecisive person. I want to share drinks, go to the movies. I want someone to take me to an art gallery. I want to go to a show, get drunk under stars. I want to sit in a coffee shop. I want to destroy a bedroom, and clean the mess up. I want a rose, but not too many. I want mixed cds, and short letters. I want to swing, walk by water. I want expensive desert, or a long night at the bar. I want to dance, then hide under the covers. Listen to music for hours. Is it too much to ask to be able to live? Why doesn't anyone want to live like me? Just. . . one. . . thing. Never. Not me.
And I want an addiction, something to take my mind off the realization; someday I'll live at home with all my cats. And the neighbor kids will dare each other to come knock on the old witch's door. I'll throw rocks at their face before they get the chance to run away. Or maybe I'll just find. . . a clean cut down the alley, I'm sure they'd love to indulge.
When I'm alone, night after night.
When I choose to be alone, night after night.
When I'm not happy until I'm happy with someone I love.
And there are the friends who say I'm beautiful, anyone would be lucky to have me. But the truth is I don't believe them, or I don't want them; they're nothing like me. And those words mean nothing coming from nothing like me.
Because I'm not happy until I'm in love.
So, what does this all mean?