| don't. |
a love for broken words and -do you remember that one day in your car? the rain was being whacked to rubies by the windshield wipers and the leather seats couldn't make up their minds. you were tracing tumbling raindrops down the glass plate with your eyes, your chin resting harshly against your curled fingers. i fiddled with the crackingly radio, my thighs hugging the curve of the torn black material of the seat and my big toe nervously tapping the floor pad.a love for broken words and -
tension and hate and sadness filled the air, and i was choking on the fumes. desperation was calling my name, aching for me to whisper your name, my tongue wrapping around your name as
02you never knew it, but my guilty pleasure was to stand outside your window and watch your lungs force your stomach to riseandfall. your rust-colored hair would usually be spilling across your lone pillow, your bangs shielding your dove-like face in that way you hate. sometimes, i would sit on the tree branch outside your window and carry on conversations with the bird i named george. other times, i would study the way your mouth twitched in your sleep and how the words you formed with your lips, incoherently while dreaming, made my heart sing. it didn't matter that i couldn't hear what you were mumbling, for i knew it was beautiful. &nb02
| don't. |
Thank You, Slater.Listen:Thank You, Slater.
I used to go to the nearby campus coffee shop in the early evenings, armed with a pen, a blank notebook, and writer's block. The sense of loneliness was unspoken but well accounted for.
I always shared coffee-counterspace with the same boy, who never smiled or talked and who had a penchant for bedhead and argyle sweaters. He liked to lean back on his stool, balancing precariously as he read novels, and I liked to pretend I wasn't watching him watch me. We coexisted in quiet companionship, thrived quietly under fluorescent lighting which sometimes caught his thick-framed glasses.
His novels change
punctuation play.you'll say, oh, well how kinky, and i'll say, no kidding, asshole.punctuation play.
i'll whip you with the exclamation points until your eyelids are wet and tie you to the radiator with commas, hold you down with parentheses. y
butterflies.- 1butterflies.
summer always reminded me of warm concrete, green apples, and air conditioned malls. it reminded me of how good your arm felt around me, and that i used to count the butterflies in my stomach. (i woke up one morning, dream hazy and happy, and they appeared. i blame you.)
snow fell from the sky the day my heart turned into ice. i hated winter; i hated the cold and the wonderland outside my window more than i hated that i still thought about you.
but just when snowflakes sprinkled over me twice, and i thought i had become cured, the butterflies came back.
- 2 &
why don't we talk like before?
it feels like i'm all alone here and i'm sososo in need to talk to you :]
(cuz you always make me smile, sunshine)
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writing is my way to s p e a k
i'm just never on anymore. with cross country, volleyball, cheerleading, grades, my clubs, freshman-ness (how yucky), and blah blah blah yadda yadda i never get on the internet anymore.
plus with being in the hospital for a week (long story; don't even ask), i have no social life. well, no, that's a lie. i'm too busy being forced to spend time with ignorant jocks and bitchy cheerleaders.
i blame me for this. :[
how've you been, dear? :]
(
i've been better.
writer's block, heart problems, no social life (and for me, it's real)... basically, i'm a big loser.
oooh, and i blame myself for this as well. with reason.
woohoo. there goes my life
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writing is my way to s p e a k
everyone has downer days, or weeks. they make me feel normal, as strange as that sounds. whoa, i'm lame. i just realized i feel happier when i'm depressed. haha, i'm fucked up in the head. mwahaha.
i really like this guy named jason, who is a sixteen and a junior. whee who, he's too old for me. (i'm fourteen.) on top of that, he's the brother of my future brother-in-law who i absolutely hate. so, technially, he's family now, right? he likes me as well, and now we're off limits from each other. aaah! not fair!
even just thinking of that matter is pissing me off, so i'm going to stop ranting and screaming now. :]
anywhoo, everyone is fucked up in the head, that's what humans are mwahaha.
ps: life isn't fair.
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writing is my way to s p e a k
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