Does anyone know where this is from? I read it on a friends' blog and it seems so familiar?

I'm sorry.





I'm sorry that I keep saying that I'm sorry. I know it's strange; strange in a George W. Bush-hasn't-been-assasinated-yet kind of way, that I say I'm sorry for the stupid **** and trivial things. She sings the sweet logic that apologies should grow like trees;only able to bear fruit if it's root is planted in the soil of genuine sincerity. But I somehow manage to parody each apology by speaking it before every act, and the fact is that I'm not really sorry that I completely dig Degrassi, because it was Yick and Arthur that got me through wet dreams and puberty. I don't expect you to understand the reference, but I've been into this **** ever since a casting director said, "**** physicality, give me some reality. Give me kids who can't act and are ugly. They'll teach the world all about beauty."





I can relate to this because before I met you, I used to want to lock myself into a vault just to feel precious. But now with every kiss hello and goodbye, I feel a self worth no banker can tally. And my heart is a protest that I let rally against my ribs, because I want to build my bones into cribs and lay my reluctance to rest; test what it would be like to live frenetically, to hold you unapologetically, to plant a giving tree on my front lawn, so that when you're gone it can give you back to me. And I'm sorry. And when you sleep next to me you're forced to listen to the symphony of my unplugged nostril. And I'm sorry that one time for some reason I called you "man."





Thats ****** up.





****** up in an I-just-bought-a-pair-of-speedos-so-I-can... kind of way. And crazier than that is the fact that I'll play at being brave, because doubt is about as useful as a fire escape when you're trying to dodge a tidal wave. When you've got no time to save anybody but yourself, you better know you're worth it. And you are worth the time it takes to get to know you. We've managed to muddle through the awkward stages of, "I like you, and do you like me too?" And when we both said "yes," life became a multiple choice test. Not knowing anything, we became eachothers best guess. And holding your hand is less like exploration and more like discovery. I don't have to study to be sure. You're the choice I made before I knew what the other choices were. And like the best idea I'll ever have I want you to occur to me daily. And I'm sorry, but I want to kiss you every time you have something incredible to say.





But you're beautiful, beautiful in a view kind of way.





Your like the long lost vinyl of Louis Armstrong, and I want to play you until it - until it - until it ski- until it ski- I want to play you until it skips.





I want to tell you a secret, and I want you to listen with your lips. I want your hands on my hips like they were their final resting place, then put that funeral on your paper so you can trace their lifetime back to the fact that I'm more inclined to find a space in your heart to haunt for as long as you want me to. Baby, I'll rattle chains up and down the halls of you. And this isn't the greatest romance the world has ever seen. Lets face it: we've been making out to songs about breakup and heartache. But I've come to realize romance should be less like a flower, and more like an earthquake. I'm not saying that I want to shake cities to the ground. I'm not saying that I want the rubble that remains to become a lost and found where we find the kind of tolerance it takes to rebuild in the face of tragedy. I'm tired of living in a world that says people only come together when faced with catastrophe. I want you to want me to be the me you see when I'm free to be the me that got me next to you. And as for romance? Well I want that too. I want to fall asleep next to you one hundred times a night so I can know you one hundred times better before we hit the daylight, and in spite of all of this:





I also want amnesia...





So that I can relive each kiss with a perfect new-ness that leaves me smashed in the arms of rapture. I want the sky to fra ctu re under the impossible weight of an apology, because I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I want so much. I'm sorry that I've been using 'I'm sorry' as a crutch to lean on for so long ..but if you sing me that sweet song of logic again, then I promise to make the effort to stand on my own. There's a reason that our hearts are more like a muscle and less like a bone. I've known so many people who've grown up flexing in front of mirrors falling for their own reflection, thinking it will be adequate.. and that's bullshit. Because we only get from now until the time we go, and if they've only got time to love themselves, then no one's going to be around to hear their heartbeat echo. So don't expect an apology when I tell you I'm only held together by a heart that pumps glue. It's the strongest muscle in my body, and I'm flexing it...

Does anyone know where this is from? I read it on a friends' blog and it seems so familiar?
I'm fairly sure it hasn't been lifted from anywhere on the Internet. It's probably an original composition. I'm surprised you were able to post something with the word **** in it (see, Yahoo censor won't let me do it).

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