Hey ‘realistic’, let’s break up.
You’re cramping my style here.
Getting in my head with your nagging, nagging, nagging ‘How much is that? How much is this? Can you really afford that? What about next week? What about next month? Think small, stay realistic, be careful.’ Yada, yada, yada. Do you ever shut-up?!
Let’s face it, our relationship is based on fear- you kinda get off on fancying yourself the dictator of my future.
This can’t go on.
I’m leaving you for possibility.
I’m leaving you for joyful trust.
You don’t have to go anywhere, I’ve already packed.
That’s me walking out the door.
Let’s keep it amicable though hey?
I’ll pop in from time to time, see how you’re traveling, let you fill me in on where you’re up to.
Sure, let’s be friends… My intellect seems to like your company sometimes.
But let’s not be intimate anymore. You can’t come to bed with me anymore. You can’t be the first face I see when I wake up. You’re not the one I want to stroll sweet foreign streets with.
It’s not you, it’s me.
It’s me you see, it’s me who, when you’re not around, has these great, sweeping, inspired visions. When you’re not here with your heavy, plodding ways, I fly. I laugh more, I dance in the street more, I love with my miracle eyes open.
I know you’d stay with me forever if I let you… But I can’t, I really can’t, it’s decidedly unfun. Like, the most epic of unfuns. Besides, I know you have a mistress or seven billion, now you can go and be with her, him, them. I’ve heard they welcome you with open arms, straight into their beds and their dreams. Go where you’re wanted my dear… It’s definitely not here.
This is the sound of breaking up…
See you round.