It fucks me up
when you're sad,
when you're hurt,
when the world is unfair to you.
I don't know what to do.
I want to take your hand,
grasp it tight,
hold your head,
lift your chin.
I want to tell you
everything will be okay.
I want to tell you that in a world
filled with evil
and injustice
and misunderstanding
and sadness
I will stand by you.
I want to tell you that when you feel alone,
when you've had an endless day
and it seems that no one understands,
I will stand by you.
When you turn on me
I will turn to you.
When you want to be alone
I will be alone with you.
When you're hurt
I will be your wrath.
Your hand in mine,
I will face the world with you
and be your strength
when you have none.
Your head resting on my shoulders,
I will be your rest
when you have done
all that you can.
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Monday, April 3, 2017
Chapter 64: A Dream I Had Last Night
You and I were leaving a group meeting. We hadn't seen each other in a long time, and old feelings came rising out of the deep when we saw each other again. You looked different, older, more mature. You had become someone I didn't know.
We left with everyone else, the host seeing us out of his home, everyone saying their goodbyes. I grabbed your hand as you walked past, my fingers remembering yours as they suddenly intertwined. You looked me in the eye, my heart clenched at the sudden contact. "Stay with me tonight," I whispered. "My place?" you whisper back as you pull my hand toward you, our fingers still intertwined. I nod.
We walk toward where you parked. My ride had gone on without me. Suddenly you pick up your pace. I try to match your step. You start running, a gleam in your eye. Someone in the distance is running toward you. I slow down, and the distance between us grows. You run faster and faster toward the person coming toward you until you catch you in your arms and spin her in the air. You trip and fall into the grass with her, your eyes filled with laughter in a way they never did for me. I turn and walk the opposite way, leaving you with her.
I pick up my phone and wonder how I will get home. It's well into the night, and anyone I call would still be asleep. I am miles from home, alone. I sit against a wall and cry.
We left with everyone else, the host seeing us out of his home, everyone saying their goodbyes. I grabbed your hand as you walked past, my fingers remembering yours as they suddenly intertwined. You looked me in the eye, my heart clenched at the sudden contact. "Stay with me tonight," I whispered. "My place?" you whisper back as you pull my hand toward you, our fingers still intertwined. I nod.
We walk toward where you parked. My ride had gone on without me. Suddenly you pick up your pace. I try to match your step. You start running, a gleam in your eye. Someone in the distance is running toward you. I slow down, and the distance between us grows. You run faster and faster toward the person coming toward you until you catch you in your arms and spin her in the air. You trip and fall into the grass with her, your eyes filled with laughter in a way they never did for me. I turn and walk the opposite way, leaving you with her.
I pick up my phone and wonder how I will get home. It's well into the night, and anyone I call would still be asleep. I am miles from home, alone. I sit against a wall and cry.
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Chapter 63: A Summer Love, Revisited Ch 5
"Hello?" Charlotte picked up the phone and whispered into it. It was late at night, and roommate was already fast asleep.
There was a pause on the other side and then a short "Meet me outside. I'll be waiting in the park," and then a click and the line went dead.
Charlotte's heart beat faster as she recognized the voice on the other side as John's. She knew he would try to contact her after a while, but she wasn't ready right now. Her head raced, but she grabbed a jacket and tiptoed out of the house.
John was waiting for her in the light of the lamppost in the park. He was sitting on the bench, fidgeting nervously with his hands. His head was down and Charlotte could only see the back of his head as she approached.
"John?" She called him softly. He whipped his head around, and his eyes widened as if he had not actually expected her to come. She could see his body tense slightly, then he stood up, abruptly, as if a second thought. She walked over to him and sat on the bench, patting on the seat beside her to invite him to sit down again. He did, after a pause, and opened and closed his mouth as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what.
"I love you, Char," John blurted out. His voice was quiet, as if he was willing her not to hear his words, but firm, sure of what he meant. "I loved you from the moment I saw you, I loved you while I was waiting for you to love me back. I loved you when you did and I loved you when I had to leave you. Goddamn, I love you so much that even now it hurts to even look at you. I love you." His eyes were red, glistening in the lamp light. He would understand if she didn't feel the same. He had hurt her, but he had to say this now, before he regretted it for the rest of his life.
Charlotte could not believe her ears. She tensed, drawing her arms around her as if chilled by the night air. Her cheeked flushed, and she hoped the color was hidden by the darkness. The words John spoke pierced her through the heart. She loved him too, God knows. She loved him so much. But he had hurt her so much. She didn't think she could recover when he left her. Her eyes began to flood with tears, and John grabbed her arms, softly, and held her hands in his.
"I know I hurt you, Char. I know I shouldn't have left when I did, or at least I should have contacted you. I tried, you have no idea how many times I tried. Every time I picked up the phone I could just about smell you, feel your warmth, hear your voice in my ears. But I knew I hurt you, and I couldn't bear the thought of you hating me. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His voice was cracking, and Charlotte could feel his body trembling through the hands that held hers.
"I forgive you." Charlotte felt the words slip from her tongue, resonating with the meaning coming from her heart. "I love you." The second set of words choked out of her, but as soon as they escaped, she knew she meant them with all her heart. He had hurt her, yes, but it was the very fact that she had loved him so much, and still loved him, that it was able to hurt that much. She knew in her soul that this kind of love was too precious to let go. They had a lot to talk about, yes, but they were finally together.
John's entire body visibly relaxed as he pulled her body firmly into his, relieved. She didn't hate him. He would have utterly fallen to pieces if she had not felt the same. His mind raced. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him. Now, her body in his, holding his waist as if it were her lifeline, he felt whole again. Now, whatever faced him, he would be able to handle it because she was with him, and because she loved him back.
The end.
There was a pause on the other side and then a short "Meet me outside. I'll be waiting in the park," and then a click and the line went dead.
Charlotte's heart beat faster as she recognized the voice on the other side as John's. She knew he would try to contact her after a while, but she wasn't ready right now. Her head raced, but she grabbed a jacket and tiptoed out of the house.
John was waiting for her in the light of the lamppost in the park. He was sitting on the bench, fidgeting nervously with his hands. His head was down and Charlotte could only see the back of his head as she approached.
"John?" She called him softly. He whipped his head around, and his eyes widened as if he had not actually expected her to come. She could see his body tense slightly, then he stood up, abruptly, as if a second thought. She walked over to him and sat on the bench, patting on the seat beside her to invite him to sit down again. He did, after a pause, and opened and closed his mouth as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what.
"I love you, Char," John blurted out. His voice was quiet, as if he was willing her not to hear his words, but firm, sure of what he meant. "I loved you from the moment I saw you, I loved you while I was waiting for you to love me back. I loved you when you did and I loved you when I had to leave you. Goddamn, I love you so much that even now it hurts to even look at you. I love you." His eyes were red, glistening in the lamp light. He would understand if she didn't feel the same. He had hurt her, but he had to say this now, before he regretted it for the rest of his life.
Charlotte could not believe her ears. She tensed, drawing her arms around her as if chilled by the night air. Her cheeked flushed, and she hoped the color was hidden by the darkness. The words John spoke pierced her through the heart. She loved him too, God knows. She loved him so much. But he had hurt her so much. She didn't think she could recover when he left her. Her eyes began to flood with tears, and John grabbed her arms, softly, and held her hands in his.
"I know I hurt you, Char. I know I shouldn't have left when I did, or at least I should have contacted you. I tried, you have no idea how many times I tried. Every time I picked up the phone I could just about smell you, feel your warmth, hear your voice in my ears. But I knew I hurt you, and I couldn't bear the thought of you hating me. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His voice was cracking, and Charlotte could feel his body trembling through the hands that held hers.
"I forgive you." Charlotte felt the words slip from her tongue, resonating with the meaning coming from her heart. "I love you." The second set of words choked out of her, but as soon as they escaped, she knew she meant them with all her heart. He had hurt her, yes, but it was the very fact that she had loved him so much, and still loved him, that it was able to hurt that much. She knew in her soul that this kind of love was too precious to let go. They had a lot to talk about, yes, but they were finally together.
John's entire body visibly relaxed as he pulled her body firmly into his, relieved. She didn't hate him. He would have utterly fallen to pieces if she had not felt the same. His mind raced. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him. Now, her body in his, holding his waist as if it were her lifeline, he felt whole again. Now, whatever faced him, he would be able to handle it because she was with him, and because she loved him back.
The end.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Chapter 62: A Summer Love, Revisited Pt.4
John sat in his apartment, the only things in the room were a bed, a lamp, a table, and the chair on which he currently sat. His phone was in front of him, and he was debating whether or not to call Charlotte. She had made it clear to him that she needed time before she saw him again. That is, if she ever wanted to see him again.
He groaned and put his head in his hands. When he had gotten the phone call from his father, he had been devastated. He remembered his vision going black for a while, and having a small panic attack. His father had been there for him all his life, raising him alone after his mother had died. They were closer than normal parents and children, like best friends. Even when John had moved to the United States from London, he still Skyped with his dad every night, telling him about his day. When he had met Charlotte, his dad had been the first to know.
John remembered telling his dad all about the girl he had met at University, who wore bright yellow dresses and smelled like peaches. He had gushed to his father about her bright orange hair and her emerald green eyes. And those freckles splayed across her cheeks like constellations. He had confessed to his father that after that first day, he had known that she was the girl he wanted to marry.
So when the phone call came, John had had no other thought in his mind than to rush to his father's side. The operation would happen as soon as John arrived in London, and he wanted to be there for his dad just like his dad had been there for him all his life.
When his father died, after a year of taking care of him after his operation, John had been left with nothing. No remaining family, no money (as he had spent everything he earned, working two jobs and doing odd jobs on the side, on his father's hospital bills), and no Charlotte. It was in those days, those nights after he had been working all day, coming home after all the shops were closed, that he missed her the most.
He remembered their first date. She had worn a baby pink sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans, and the combination had knocked his heart into his throat. He could barely speak a word to her the whole date, and she thought he had hated the date. It was only afterward that he was able to assure her, repeatedly and with much stammering, that that was certainly not the case.
When John had finally scraped together the money to see her again, it had passed two years. Then, he had been filled with worries that Charlotte had already forgotten him, and found herself in the arms of another. He had tried to get those images out of his mind, but the thought of Charlotte with someone else tormented him.
And then he had finally made his way back to America. And he went to a restaurant with his friends to catch up after all that time had passed, not expecting to see her there. But when he saw her, all of his thoughts left him, her face still perfect, her eyes still piercing green, her body still small but defiant. And when he had seen her with another man, his heart fell into his feet. Had he gotten to her too late? But as the minutes passed, he could see from just their body language that it was just a first date. Nothing serious. She even looked bored, or uncomfortable, like she wasn't used to dating again, just yet.
He had quickly pulled aside a waiter, slipped him a twenty, and asked him to "accidentally" spill a drink on the couple sitting at that table. He had gestured to Charlotte and her unknown suitor, and gave the waiter a pleading look. "Please," he had whispered, "She's the love of my life." And when the waiter saw the earnest look in his eyes, he had relented and agreed.
John remembered waiting for his opportunity, and then slipping away from his friends to sit across from Charlotte. His Charlotte. Her serious, detached remarked pierced his heart. ""Please, John. Please leave. I can't." Her words had wounded him. If she only knew everything he had gone through to get to this point, to see her face once again... Did she even love him still? He had left the restaurant quickly, body numb, heartbroken.
And he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw her again. The way she looked sitting there, with a cup of tea in her hand, reminded him of their study dates together, before they had confessed to one another. He remembered the constant refills of pots of tea, trying to keep themselves awake as they studied for the upcoming midterm, only to find their hearts beating quickly at their close proximities to each other, wondering if it was the caffeine that had them feeling this way.
And she had walked away from him then, as well. He hadn't gotten the chance to explain himself. At least, not fully. She hadn't given him the time. She didn't know yet. How much he loved her.
John stared at his phone. If he called her now, she might be disturbed. Would she think he was a stalker? He had already run into her unaware two times. And she had left him both times.
But then again, if he didn't call her, when would he have the chance to see her again? He needed her to know. He needed to know if she felt the same way. He picked up the phone.
He groaned and put his head in his hands. When he had gotten the phone call from his father, he had been devastated. He remembered his vision going black for a while, and having a small panic attack. His father had been there for him all his life, raising him alone after his mother had died. They were closer than normal parents and children, like best friends. Even when John had moved to the United States from London, he still Skyped with his dad every night, telling him about his day. When he had met Charlotte, his dad had been the first to know.
John remembered telling his dad all about the girl he had met at University, who wore bright yellow dresses and smelled like peaches. He had gushed to his father about her bright orange hair and her emerald green eyes. And those freckles splayed across her cheeks like constellations. He had confessed to his father that after that first day, he had known that she was the girl he wanted to marry.
So when the phone call came, John had had no other thought in his mind than to rush to his father's side. The operation would happen as soon as John arrived in London, and he wanted to be there for his dad just like his dad had been there for him all his life.
When his father died, after a year of taking care of him after his operation, John had been left with nothing. No remaining family, no money (as he had spent everything he earned, working two jobs and doing odd jobs on the side, on his father's hospital bills), and no Charlotte. It was in those days, those nights after he had been working all day, coming home after all the shops were closed, that he missed her the most.
He remembered their first date. She had worn a baby pink sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans, and the combination had knocked his heart into his throat. He could barely speak a word to her the whole date, and she thought he had hated the date. It was only afterward that he was able to assure her, repeatedly and with much stammering, that that was certainly not the case.
When John had finally scraped together the money to see her again, it had passed two years. Then, he had been filled with worries that Charlotte had already forgotten him, and found herself in the arms of another. He had tried to get those images out of his mind, but the thought of Charlotte with someone else tormented him.
And then he had finally made his way back to America. And he went to a restaurant with his friends to catch up after all that time had passed, not expecting to see her there. But when he saw her, all of his thoughts left him, her face still perfect, her eyes still piercing green, her body still small but defiant. And when he had seen her with another man, his heart fell into his feet. Had he gotten to her too late? But as the minutes passed, he could see from just their body language that it was just a first date. Nothing serious. She even looked bored, or uncomfortable, like she wasn't used to dating again, just yet.
He had quickly pulled aside a waiter, slipped him a twenty, and asked him to "accidentally" spill a drink on the couple sitting at that table. He had gestured to Charlotte and her unknown suitor, and gave the waiter a pleading look. "Please," he had whispered, "She's the love of my life." And when the waiter saw the earnest look in his eyes, he had relented and agreed.
John remembered waiting for his opportunity, and then slipping away from his friends to sit across from Charlotte. His Charlotte. Her serious, detached remarked pierced his heart. ""Please, John. Please leave. I can't." Her words had wounded him. If she only knew everything he had gone through to get to this point, to see her face once again... Did she even love him still? He had left the restaurant quickly, body numb, heartbroken.
And he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw her again. The way she looked sitting there, with a cup of tea in her hand, reminded him of their study dates together, before they had confessed to one another. He remembered the constant refills of pots of tea, trying to keep themselves awake as they studied for the upcoming midterm, only to find their hearts beating quickly at their close proximities to each other, wondering if it was the caffeine that had them feeling this way.
And she had walked away from him then, as well. He hadn't gotten the chance to explain himself. At least, not fully. She hadn't given him the time. She didn't know yet. How much he loved her.
John stared at his phone. If he called her now, she might be disturbed. Would she think he was a stalker? He had already run into her unaware two times. And she had left him both times.
But then again, if he didn't call her, when would he have the chance to see her again? He needed her to know. He needed to know if she felt the same way. He picked up the phone.
Chapter 61: Summer Love, Revisited Pt.3
Six days had passed since she last heard from John. No word, and she was pretty sure he still had her old address, email, and even her phone number. They had all stayed the same since he had left three years ago. Charlotte sat on her bed, trying to read a book. She had been on the same page for the past 30 minutes; her thoughts were filled instead with the conversation she had with John.
Charlotte felt her phone buzz. She checked the screen: "Hey girl, I just got back from work! What did you want to talk about?" It was a text from her best friend, Talia. Talia worked as a journalist, and worked odd hours as a result.
Charlotte texted back: "Can you meet me at my place? I'll make some coffee, and theres some leftover pizza in the fridge." The response was immediate: "Ofc, on my way!"
Talia came over almost immediately, admitting when the door was opened that she had already been on her way to surprise Charlotte with pastries. "The more the merrier!" Charlotte exclaimed, eyeing the chocolate eclairs in the bag Talia brought in with her.
"So...What's the gossip? I wanna know everything." Talia leaned on the counter, her eyes sparkling. She had just come back from covering a big story about a robbery at the bank and was in a good mood from having gotten to the scene first.
Charlotte sighed, not knowing where to start. She knew it wasn't John's fault that he had to leave her. Of course he had to - his dad had been dying. Charlotte knew she would have done the same thing. But she had been so heartbroken when he left. They had secretly loved each other for years, and that summer, the summer when they had finally confessed their feelings to each other, had been the best few months of her life. When he left, she couldn't leave her bed for weeks. Talia had come over to take care of her then, and had been horrified at the lack of hygiene in that room. It took all of Charlotte's strength and a lot of Talia's prodding and comfort to get her showered and functional. And it had taken even longer for Charlotte to even talk to another man again. She had closed up her heart so shut for so long.
"John...he's back in town." Charlotte told her softly, her eyes locked on Talia's to look for some sort of response. Talia's face contorted in anger. "What???!? That punk?? Where is he?? I'll kill him!"
Charlotte laughed a little and grabbed Talia's arm to hold her back. "No, it's okay... we saw each other a week ago and he wanted to talk to me." Talia relaxed a little. "Well, what did he say?" she asked.
And then Charlotte told her everything that had happened, why she acted the way she did, as Talia nodded, listening to everything.
"What should I do?" Charlotte buried her head in her hands. Talia came around the counter to sit with Charlotte at the table. She put her arm around Charlotte in an attempt to comfort her.
"Well," Talia started, "Do you still love him?" Charlotte looked down her hands. "I think I do." She admitted to Talia, and a little to herself.
"Then. Tell him." Talia told her firmly. "I know he hurt you. But he didn't want to. And obviously he still loves you. I know there's so much pain between you two, but I also know how happy you were when you were together. I was there. I know you two belong together."
"But what if he leaves again? What if..." Charlotte trailed off, thinking of the possibilities. She didn't want to feel that kind of pain ever again, if she could avoid it.
"Honey," Talia held Charlotte's hand with one hand and grabbed a chocolate eclair with another. "Love hurts. But it's worth it."
Charlotte felt her phone buzz. She checked the screen: "Hey girl, I just got back from work! What did you want to talk about?" It was a text from her best friend, Talia. Talia worked as a journalist, and worked odd hours as a result.
Charlotte texted back: "Can you meet me at my place? I'll make some coffee, and theres some leftover pizza in the fridge." The response was immediate: "Ofc, on my way!"
Talia came over almost immediately, admitting when the door was opened that she had already been on her way to surprise Charlotte with pastries. "The more the merrier!" Charlotte exclaimed, eyeing the chocolate eclairs in the bag Talia brought in with her.
"So...What's the gossip? I wanna know everything." Talia leaned on the counter, her eyes sparkling. She had just come back from covering a big story about a robbery at the bank and was in a good mood from having gotten to the scene first.
Charlotte sighed, not knowing where to start. She knew it wasn't John's fault that he had to leave her. Of course he had to - his dad had been dying. Charlotte knew she would have done the same thing. But she had been so heartbroken when he left. They had secretly loved each other for years, and that summer, the summer when they had finally confessed their feelings to each other, had been the best few months of her life. When he left, she couldn't leave her bed for weeks. Talia had come over to take care of her then, and had been horrified at the lack of hygiene in that room. It took all of Charlotte's strength and a lot of Talia's prodding and comfort to get her showered and functional. And it had taken even longer for Charlotte to even talk to another man again. She had closed up her heart so shut for so long.
"John...he's back in town." Charlotte told her softly, her eyes locked on Talia's to look for some sort of response. Talia's face contorted in anger. "What???!? That punk?? Where is he?? I'll kill him!"
Charlotte laughed a little and grabbed Talia's arm to hold her back. "No, it's okay... we saw each other a week ago and he wanted to talk to me." Talia relaxed a little. "Well, what did he say?" she asked.
And then Charlotte told her everything that had happened, why she acted the way she did, as Talia nodded, listening to everything.
"What should I do?" Charlotte buried her head in her hands. Talia came around the counter to sit with Charlotte at the table. She put her arm around Charlotte in an attempt to comfort her.
"Well," Talia started, "Do you still love him?" Charlotte looked down her hands. "I think I do." She admitted to Talia, and a little to herself.
"Then. Tell him." Talia told her firmly. "I know he hurt you. But he didn't want to. And obviously he still loves you. I know there's so much pain between you two, but I also know how happy you were when you were together. I was there. I know you two belong together."
"But what if he leaves again? What if..." Charlotte trailed off, thinking of the possibilities. She didn't want to feel that kind of pain ever again, if she could avoid it.
"Honey," Talia held Charlotte's hand with one hand and grabbed a chocolate eclair with another. "Love hurts. But it's worth it."
Chapter 60: Summer Love, Revisited Pt. 2
Charlotte sat in a cafe the next morning, sipping on a cup of breakfast tea and thinking about what had transpired the night before. John. John was back in town, and he wanted to tell her something. It had seemed important, from the urgency in his voice. But Charlotte knew she couldn't face him. It was too much for her and she knew she was too weak to see him again. That feeling in the pit of her stomach as soon as she had seen him dangerously reminded her of the months she had spent crying at night, trying to forget him.
She groaned and rested her head on her arms.
"Tired, Charlotte?" a voice came suddenly, but gently. Charlotte recognized the low voice and sat back, startled. "John."
"Look, I wasn't going to see you again after last night. I saw how disturbed you looked and when you said you didn't want to see me, it just broke my heart. But looking at you now, I couldn't help myself." He looked sheepish, apologetic. She looked down. She couldn't meet his eyes. She knew she would crack if she did.
"Please, Char. I just want to know how you've been doing and, when you're more comfortable, try to explain myself." His voice was more quiet now, pleading. She made the mistake of looking at him. He looked smart, like yesterday, although it was not the same semi-formal outfit he had been wearing at the restaurant. He was dressed in a sightly crinkled blue button down and a pair of dark blue jeans. He wore a pair of brown oxfords and the glasses they had picked out together, the ones with blue rectangle frames.
His eyes shone through the lenses and locked with hers with a sort of earnest desperation. She melted. Her stomach clenched, and her heart was beating faster than usual. The blush crept into her cheeks as he held her eyes with a steadfast gaze, and she hoped he hadn't noticed the pink in her face.
"Okay John, let's talk." She said, resignedly, fighting with the rational part of her brain. "How have you been?"
John smiled, his thankful smile melting her heart as his shoulders relaxed a little. "Char, I've missed you so much. You have no idea."
"I think I have some idea." Charlotte stared at him, her voice accusing. "You left me without explanation. I thought we had something, John."
John looked down. "I went to London," he started. "My father called me, you remember, and asked me to come take care of him." He looked back up at her, his eyes searching hers for understanding.
Charlotte shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have understood. And we could have worked something out. I loved you! At least... I did."
John smiled bitterly. "It all happened so fast. My father had cancer. It was stage four...terminal. I could barely think, let alone get myself to his side before his operation. The doctors wanted to operate one last time to see if they could buy him any more time. They gave him barely a year to live. I stayed by his side for as long as I could, working two jobs to pay for his hospital bills. I didn't have any time to contact you. I barely had enough time to sleep." John shook his head. "I thought about you every night, Char. I've only thought of you for all this time."
Charlotte shut her eyes, tight. She didn't have the emotional capacity for this, not right now. She had been heartbroken when John left. She had only been able to put him out of her mind enough to try to move on about a year ago, and now he just shows up out of the blue? She shook her head.
"John, I'll talk to you later, please."
"Charlotte..." John stood up as Charlotte started packing her things and heading toward the door.
"Not now, John. I'm sorry, this is too much for me to handle. I'll talk to you some other time."
"Just..." John held her hand for a second, gently, as if afraid that she would never appear before his eyes again. "Just.. please think about what I said. I love you, Char."
"Goodbye, John."
Chapter 59: Summer Love, Revisited
She didn't know why the look in his eyes hit her like a ton of bricks. There was a sort of yearning, a deep burning longing that struck her hard and fast. Even though he was across a room full of people, and even though she hadn't seen him in three years, she had caught his eye as soon as she stepped into the room. And now she couldn't look away.
John, the boy she had loved a while ago. She couldn't remember if she still did, but as their eyes held each other, she could feel the familiar wrenching of her heart and gut. They had been in love, yes. And the summer they had finally confessed their mutual love for each other and had been in a blissful state of togetherness had been heavenly and much too short. But then he had moved away without any sort of explanation. He had said goodbye and left her, all alone and empty.
But now he was back. He was sitting at a booth in that crowded restaurant with three other people, whom she could not focus on enough to recognize. They were all chatting and laughing a bit loudly, at home with the bustling atmosphere of the place. He alone was sitting upright, mouth still and closed, eyes fixed on hers.
She was able to tear her eyes away when she was jolted back to reality by a tug on her arm. "Come on honey, they can seat us now." Her date led her gently to the table the stewardess was leading them toward. She could feel John's eyes follow her and her cheeks burned, but she kept her head down and followed her date. She had been burned once and would not fall for the same thing again.
They were now seated. A waiter came by to get their drink orders. Her date ordered some wine for them both, and she smiled and nodded her agreement, only half engaged in what was happening at the moment. She could feel John's eyes boring into her back. "So, what kind of work do you do," she asked her date, trying to distract herself. She glanced behind her, at the booth across the room, and caught John's eye. She quickly turned around.
"Well, I'm really into stocks... I'm just an accountant, but I think I have a real knack for these kinds of things, you see." Her date started to talk excitedly, encouraged by her smile. She nodded along to his words as he went on, still only partially listening. The waiter came by with their wine, and set up the ice beside the table. He popped open the cork, but the bottle slipped from his hands, tipping and spilling all over her date's shirt and lap. They both jumped up with a small shout of surprise.
"I'm so sorry monsieur, madame, I am so very sorry. I will clean that up for you right away. Oh, Monsieur, your shirt! Please, please come with me, I will try to help you get the stain out. Please, right this way, monsieur." The waiter, desperately dabbing at the deep red droplets on the man's shirt and lap, frantically ushered him away to the bathroom and he followed, too surprised to speak.
She sat back in her chair, a little frazzled. Her date was gone now, and she was sitting at the table alone. A man pulled out the seat beside her. She looked up, startled, at John's serious brown eyes staring back at hers.
"Charlotte."
"John, what are you doing here?"
"I had to come speak to you, as soon as I saw you come in. I just had to speak to you."
Charlotte shook her head. "No, John, please leave. You saw that I was with someone, and he's going to come back soon. It'll be rude if I'm here chatting with someone else when he comes back."
John smirked. "That French fry? Charlotte, you and I both know you're better than that. You deserve better than that."
"I'll have you know," said Charlotte curtly, "Brian is a very sweet man. He's kind and wholesome."
"Boring," John snorted, rolling his eyes a little. "You were bored out of your mind, I saw it. Come with me, Charlotte." John leaned in closer to her. "Please."
He looked at her with steady eyes. "I need to explain myself and I won't forgive myself if I don't."
"No," Charlotte shook her head, disturbed. "Please, John. Please leave. I can't."
John looked down. "Charlotte, I... Okay. I'll see you around, I guess." He walked away quickly back to his booth and, after a few minutes, left the restaurant entirely.
John, the boy she had loved a while ago. She couldn't remember if she still did, but as their eyes held each other, she could feel the familiar wrenching of her heart and gut. They had been in love, yes. And the summer they had finally confessed their mutual love for each other and had been in a blissful state of togetherness had been heavenly and much too short. But then he had moved away without any sort of explanation. He had said goodbye and left her, all alone and empty.
But now he was back. He was sitting at a booth in that crowded restaurant with three other people, whom she could not focus on enough to recognize. They were all chatting and laughing a bit loudly, at home with the bustling atmosphere of the place. He alone was sitting upright, mouth still and closed, eyes fixed on hers.
She was able to tear her eyes away when she was jolted back to reality by a tug on her arm. "Come on honey, they can seat us now." Her date led her gently to the table the stewardess was leading them toward. She could feel John's eyes follow her and her cheeks burned, but she kept her head down and followed her date. She had been burned once and would not fall for the same thing again.
They were now seated. A waiter came by to get their drink orders. Her date ordered some wine for them both, and she smiled and nodded her agreement, only half engaged in what was happening at the moment. She could feel John's eyes boring into her back. "So, what kind of work do you do," she asked her date, trying to distract herself. She glanced behind her, at the booth across the room, and caught John's eye. She quickly turned around.
"Well, I'm really into stocks... I'm just an accountant, but I think I have a real knack for these kinds of things, you see." Her date started to talk excitedly, encouraged by her smile. She nodded along to his words as he went on, still only partially listening. The waiter came by with their wine, and set up the ice beside the table. He popped open the cork, but the bottle slipped from his hands, tipping and spilling all over her date's shirt and lap. They both jumped up with a small shout of surprise.
"I'm so sorry monsieur, madame, I am so very sorry. I will clean that up for you right away. Oh, Monsieur, your shirt! Please, please come with me, I will try to help you get the stain out. Please, right this way, monsieur." The waiter, desperately dabbing at the deep red droplets on the man's shirt and lap, frantically ushered him away to the bathroom and he followed, too surprised to speak.
She sat back in her chair, a little frazzled. Her date was gone now, and she was sitting at the table alone. A man pulled out the seat beside her. She looked up, startled, at John's serious brown eyes staring back at hers.
"Charlotte."
"John, what are you doing here?"
"I had to come speak to you, as soon as I saw you come in. I just had to speak to you."
Charlotte shook her head. "No, John, please leave. You saw that I was with someone, and he's going to come back soon. It'll be rude if I'm here chatting with someone else when he comes back."
John smirked. "That French fry? Charlotte, you and I both know you're better than that. You deserve better than that."
"I'll have you know," said Charlotte curtly, "Brian is a very sweet man. He's kind and wholesome."
"Boring," John snorted, rolling his eyes a little. "You were bored out of your mind, I saw it. Come with me, Charlotte." John leaned in closer to her. "Please."
He looked at her with steady eyes. "I need to explain myself and I won't forgive myself if I don't."
"No," Charlotte shook her head, disturbed. "Please, John. Please leave. I can't."
John looked down. "Charlotte, I... Okay. I'll see you around, I guess." He walked away quickly back to his booth and, after a few minutes, left the restaurant entirely.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Chapter 58: Questions
What is love?
And if it is what I think it is
Have I even felt it before?
Why am I so afraid?
Am I afraid of commitment
Or of disappointment?
Who are you?
I always thought I was okay
Before I met you
What is love?
Why do I want you so much
And need you so much?
And if it is what I think it is
Have I even felt it before?
Why am I so afraid?
Am I afraid of commitment
Or of disappointment?
Who are you?
I always thought I was okay
Before I met you
What is love?
Why do I want you so much
And need you so much?
Monday, April 27, 2015
Chapter 56: A Hint of an End
I know you don't really want to talk to me. It's just an obligation to you. But to me, it's really important. I love the time I spend talking to you. I love your witty answers, the little insights you have into my life. And the more time I spend talking to you, the more I think I love you.
But now you've found someone you can be yourself around, and I know you're better off with her than you ever were pining over me. And as much as it hurts me to admit it, I could never be good enough for you, anyway.
But it still sucks, you know, because you were such a large part of my life that it'll leave a huge, gaping hole if you leave. I mean, when you leave. I could never talk to you knowing that you'd rather be talking with her. Or have a fun conversation with you, with the nagging thought in my mind that you're laughing at something funnier that she said, inadvertently comparing me to her. And in that scenario of my mind, she always wins.
So until you tell me that you like her, please excuse my reservedness. I hope you don't notice that I'm trying to talk to you less, to wean myself from you, although I doubt it'll cross your mind.
I'm happy for you, just less thrilled for me.
But now you've found someone you can be yourself around, and I know you're better off with her than you ever were pining over me. And as much as it hurts me to admit it, I could never be good enough for you, anyway.
But it still sucks, you know, because you were such a large part of my life that it'll leave a huge, gaping hole if you leave. I mean, when you leave. I could never talk to you knowing that you'd rather be talking with her. Or have a fun conversation with you, with the nagging thought in my mind that you're laughing at something funnier that she said, inadvertently comparing me to her. And in that scenario of my mind, she always wins.
So until you tell me that you like her, please excuse my reservedness. I hope you don't notice that I'm trying to talk to you less, to wean myself from you, although I doubt it'll cross your mind.
I'm happy for you, just less thrilled for me.
Chapter 55: midnight ramble
You probably like her.
I can't do anything about it.
I can't even tell you I might like you;
I don't deserve someone like you - so innocent, smart, funny, caring.
I don't deserve someone like you - so innocent, smart, funny, caring.
I don't deserve to be happy.
I'm not even in the same league as you - I could never make you happy.
At least, that's what I'm afraid of. Of you getting me and not being satisfied.
At least, that's what I'm afraid of. Of you getting me and not being satisfied.
I'm terrified of disappointing you.
And so I'll let this happen. I'll let you be happy. I'll let you leave.
And you'll never know why.
And you'll never know why.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Chapter 54: What could have happened.
It's been a long time since you've come over to my house. You're not here for anything much, just to play some games and eat some dinner. Nothing too serious. But still, it's a lot.
It's been a while since we've talked in person, too. I really missed your smile, your laugh. They way you look into my eyes when you talk. I love they way you smile a little when you hear something I say under my breath and you think it's cute.
You've been really busy, unreachable. Being away from you for so long, unable to talk to you, to be near you, has made me want you even more. I don't know if I love you, but I know for sure how special you are to me. I don't want you to be anyone else's.
You sit beside me on the couch. The large cushions sink in with the weight of our bodies, enveloping us in a suede microfiber hug. I sit beside you, only close enough for our knees to touch, and our elbows. But even with that small amount of contact, I feel your warmth. I feel your presence, something I'd been without for a long time.
We play a few games. You win the first few, and I win one. I'm falling in love with the way you get competitive, nudging me when you think I have the upper hand for a minute, or yelling when you win. I love the excitement in your eyes. I want to see all of your happy expressions. I want to be the root of all those expressions.
We pause for a minute. I'm tired, and I lean back on the sofa for a minute to rest my eyes. I feel your hand move to cover mine. Your hand is smooth, but larger than mine, enclosing it in warmth. I keep my eyes closed, but feel you lean over until your face is close to mine.
You whisper my name. I open my eyes and see your face, your eyes resting softly on mine. Your lips are slightly chapped, pressed together determinedly. Your cheeks flush softly, in contrast with the red of your ears, something I've noticed about you since you were young.
I smile. I love the way you look in this moment. You tell me you love me, and that you have loved me for the past seven years. I tell you that I know. I lift my hand and cup your cheek, pulling your face closer to mine. Your breath is hot, your breathing already unstable. I know you've dreamed of this moment for a long time, and I'm sorry I hadn't done this before.
As your lips land on mine, I move my hand to your neck, then into your hair. Your mouth is soft on mine, kissing me chastely, savoring the taste of my lips. Your hands cup my face, holding me close to you. I love you in this moment, with all apprehensions slipping away. And you love me, just as you always have, and always will.
Chapter 53: The List of Me Right Now
- I thought we were getting closer again.
- I guess I was mistaken.
- You were kind, but reserved.
- I could tell that you didn't want to open up.
- You didn't want to show me that I was special to you even though I know I am.
- It makes me doubt myself.
- I know how insecure I am.
- It used to never be from you, but now it is.
- You make me realize my weaknesses.
- You make me feel like a bad person.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Chapter 52: Dear Mom
Dear mom,
You win
and
I'm sorry
Is that what you want me to say?
I'm sorry
even though I don't mean it
even though I do mean it
but can't say it
I'm sorry
and the fact that we fight makes me want to
cut myself
And all I want to do is
crawl up into your arms
and hold onto you
life a life raft
and tell you
I'm sorry
While you say nothing
because you're sorry too
but you're not
Mom
Do you know that I cut myself
I'm so sorry, I
bleed atonement for my sins
I'm so sorry for my
sins against you, mom
because you win
and
I'm sorry
You win
and
I'm sorry
Is that what you want me to say?
I'm sorry
even though I don't mean it
even though I do mean it
but can't say it
I'm sorry
and the fact that we fight makes me want to
cut myself
And all I want to do is
crawl up into your arms
and hold onto you
life a life raft
and tell you
I'm sorry
While you say nothing
because you're sorry too
but you're not
Mom
Do you know that I cut myself
I'm so sorry, I
bleed atonement for my sins
I'm so sorry for my
sins against you, mom
because you win
and
I'm sorry
Chapter 51: Untitled #1
Methodical, like a surgeon, precise
I draw the blade into my skin, the knife
hot and biting against the flesh, to draw
from my body raw
emotion, pain, no pain - that's only weakness
no emotion, child, there's only weakness
Make a cut, not deep enough:
there's no blood yet
Release that inner guilt, that shame and let
the reasons for anger, hopelessness and fear
find their way not your heart, and hear
the taunts they whisper, shout and scream
you're never good enough
you'll never be
Then push a little deeper
draw more shame
leave a scar or two to hide and push away
everyone and anyone or want to show
anyone, not tell them, so they know
shut up
you don't know me
shut up
don't tell me you know
what I'm going through
or tell me to stop
because if you really cared about me
make me
I draw the blade into my skin, the knife
hot and biting against the flesh, to draw
from my body raw
emotion, pain, no pain - that's only weakness
no emotion, child, there's only weakness
Make a cut, not deep enough:
there's no blood yet
Release that inner guilt, that shame and let
the reasons for anger, hopelessness and fear
find their way not your heart, and hear
the taunts they whisper, shout and scream
you're never good enough
you'll never be
Then push a little deeper
draw more shame
leave a scar or two to hide and push away
everyone and anyone or want to show
anyone, not tell them, so they know
shut up
you don't know me
shut up
don't tell me you know
what I'm going through
or tell me to stop
because if you really cared about me
make me
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Chapter 50: Orange peels
You toss an orange to me, and I fumble to catch it. I look up at you, orange in hands, flustered.
You wink and say you can't open it. I nod, and get to work.
I peel it in a spiral shape, the peel in one piece, and when it's off, I wrap the orange back up and hand it to you. You nod at me and tell me to take one.
I didn't hear, so I take a piece. And another. And a few more. I leave one piece and hand it back to you. You open the wrap-around peel and chuckle a little. Pig, you laugh jokingly. I blush. You take the last piece and feed it to me. Then you pull my face to yours with one hand below my chin, and you kiss me. You smile, lips still against mine. Oranges, you whisper.
You kiss my lips again, inhale, then kiss my jaw. I can't help but inhale sharply and you grin again, into my skin. You know how much I am anticipating this - how much I am anticipating you.
You move your lips along my jaw, then to my ears. You lick the edge of my ear, and nibble a little on my ear lobe. My body is melting, pushing into yours, and the hand that's not on my chin makes its way to the small of my back and pulls me into you. I can feel your chest against mine, and the heat emanating from your body only makes me want more.
(not gonna cont.)
You wink and say you can't open it. I nod, and get to work.
I peel it in a spiral shape, the peel in one piece, and when it's off, I wrap the orange back up and hand it to you. You nod at me and tell me to take one.
I didn't hear, so I take a piece. And another. And a few more. I leave one piece and hand it back to you. You open the wrap-around peel and chuckle a little. Pig, you laugh jokingly. I blush. You take the last piece and feed it to me. Then you pull my face to yours with one hand below my chin, and you kiss me. You smile, lips still against mine. Oranges, you whisper.
You kiss my lips again, inhale, then kiss my jaw. I can't help but inhale sharply and you grin again, into my skin. You know how much I am anticipating this - how much I am anticipating you.
You move your lips along my jaw, then to my ears. You lick the edge of my ear, and nibble a little on my ear lobe. My body is melting, pushing into yours, and the hand that's not on my chin makes its way to the small of my back and pulls me into you. I can feel your chest against mine, and the heat emanating from your body only makes me want more.
(not gonna cont.)
Chapter 49: Not my type
You're not my type
Too quiet, too calm, too mature
Quiet smile that makes me want to see
you smile all the time
and makes me want to do stupid things
and say the right thing
just to see that smile
so I can smile too.
Calm words that make me secure
and when you're excited,
just a few degrees happier
but those degrees make all the difference because
they're precious and rare.
And thrilling
Mature presence that makes me bashful
of my childlike ways and childish thoughts
and curse myself when I do stupid things.
But I know you don't judge or care
because you're like that
And you accept the good with the bad
You're not my type,
all quiet smiles and calm words and mature presence
And you're not my type
making me do stupid things
and making me feel secure
and making me bashful
or maybe you're not my type
because you make me feel different than they made me feel
because maybe you're not my type
but maybe you're just what I need.
Too quiet, too calm, too mature
Quiet smile that makes me want to see
you smile all the time
and makes me want to do stupid things
and say the right thing
just to see that smile
so I can smile too.
Calm words that make me secure
and when you're excited,
just a few degrees happier
but those degrees make all the difference because
they're precious and rare.
And thrilling
Mature presence that makes me bashful
of my childlike ways and childish thoughts
and curse myself when I do stupid things.
But I know you don't judge or care
because you're like that
And you accept the good with the bad
You're not my type,
all quiet smiles and calm words and mature presence
And you're not my type
making me do stupid things
and making me feel secure
and making me bashful
or maybe you're not my type
because you make me feel different than they made me feel
because maybe you're not my type
but maybe you're just what I need.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Chapter 48: Another fantasy thing
We were laying on the grass looking up at the stars, your arms a pillow for your head, and your stomach a pillow for mine. I tried to slow my breathing lest it betray how aware I was of your taught belly and your steady breaths. You pointed up and whispered, do you know which one that is? I shook my head, and you felt it and laughed softly. Me neither. I laughed too, then. Then I turned my body so that my cheek was on your stomach and I was looking at your chin, lightly sprinkled with the shadow you'd harvested on our little camping trip. Our parents were asleep, of course, it being nearly 4am, and so were our siblings. This late night, or early morning, rendezvous was ours, and only ours. I propped my body up sideways on my elbow, and gazed into your face, blocking your view of the stars. Your face was nearly obscured by the darkness, and I could faintly make out the shape of your face and the glint of your eyes. I stayed like that for a good five minutes or more, listening to your breathing and mine try to find a steady tempo. Hey, I whispered after another moment. What? You didn't move from your place. You didn't even stir. Are you still awake? I knew the answer, but I didn't know what else to say. I could feel his hot breath on my face, and it made me lose my speech. He didn't answer. I waited another five minutes, then leaned in closer to his face. Hey, I whispered. There was no response save for his steady breathing tickling my cheeks. Suddenly, I felt soft lips on my nose. I bit back a squeal of surprise. He chuckled, and I moved in again, spurred on by his boldness. I put my hand on his face to better navigate myself in the dark. From my hand on his cheek, I was able to tell where his eyes were, his nose, and his mouth. I kissed his nose lightly as a checkpoint, and my hand still on his cheek could feel the crinkle of the corners of his mouth as he smiled. Then, slowly, I pressed my lips to his. He kissed back, chastely first, then more hungrily. This was his first kiss. I pulled back, teasingly. He growled under his breath, and turned his body so that my back was on the grass, and he was positioned slightly above me. I was both taken back and turned on by his ability to take initiative, given his newness at this kind of thing, but I went with the flow. He kissed my lips again, taking his time savoring the feeling, then kissed them three more times before moving down to my jaw.
OK NO MORE GAWD IM GETTING FLUSTERED OH MY GOD
if you want more, please comment or something.
OK NO MORE GAWD IM GETTING FLUSTERED OH MY GOD
if you want more, please comment or something.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Chapter 47: Some Fantasizing
We were the only ones standing there on the sand, and you were looking out at the ocean and I was looking at you. I wanted to hold your hand, or touch you in some way, or just be close enough to feel the warmth of your body. I turned my gaze to the fire, and didn't see as you turned yours to me.
And suddenly your arms were around me, as if you had known what I was thinking and had reacted as if to orders. My arms were around your neck, and my chin was buried in your shoulders, and before I knew it, I was crying. You knew what this meant to me, and held me tighter. My fingers grasped at your broad back, and you stood, strong, ready to hold my sobs and shudders as the cried fled from my lips.
I felt your hands, honest and firm, wrapped around my upper back, and I wonder now if you were thinking about how fragile I felt, how weak and small. Your hands emanated warmth. Your body was an anchor, holding me in place, but also a rope that someone had thrown me, that I clung to desperately. I hadn't known before, but I knew then. I loved you. I loved you.
And suddenly your arms were around me, as if you had known what I was thinking and had reacted as if to orders. My arms were around your neck, and my chin was buried in your shoulders, and before I knew it, I was crying. You knew what this meant to me, and held me tighter. My fingers grasped at your broad back, and you stood, strong, ready to hold my sobs and shudders as the cried fled from my lips.
I felt your hands, honest and firm, wrapped around my upper back, and I wonder now if you were thinking about how fragile I felt, how weak and small. Your hands emanated warmth. Your body was an anchor, holding me in place, but also a rope that someone had thrown me, that I clung to desperately. I hadn't known before, but I knew then. I loved you. I loved you.
Chapter 46: The New One
She always watched him from afar and wondered why she hadn't noticed him before. He had always been there, in the background, helping, caring. But now that she had become more aware of his presence, she couldn't help but think about his numerous good qualities. First of all, he was incredibly nice. Not even just nice, but genuinely kind, never missing a chance to ask what he could do to help or express concern for others. He was quiet, too, but since he was quietly good looking, he was also mysterious. And once he got to know you, which you want, very, very much, he was also very funny. She thought about how she couldn't help but grin widely every time he pulled a funny face on her or made a snarky remark to her under his breath so that nobody else could hear but her. He was also talented and smart, ranking higher than her on both the SAT and in GPA, and having been her teacher in several instruments as she had been starting out on them. She wondered why she hadn't before been aware of how her heart reacted to a simple smile on his face directed at her, or how she hadn't noticed his soothing voice or calming presence. He was like an older brother to her, and before, she hadn't known that that was her type, or at least that he made that her type.
She remembered the sinking feeling in her chest when someone had once mentioned that he had several attractive female childhood friends, and the smile she had to fake when they also mentioned an older friend of hers that she felt was like a sister to her, and how that friend had a crush on him for a while now.
She sat in an oversized sweater and running shorts, legs pulled up to her chest, on a chair in front of the desk in her room. She had been reading shoujo manga for three hours, reading through countless happy endings despite seemingly hopeless situations, and her heart had been questioning itself. She knew that her unrequited love was hopeless. He was obviously too good for her. But she found some strange solace in a small thought: at least I can like him.
She remembered the sinking feeling in her chest when someone had once mentioned that he had several attractive female childhood friends, and the smile she had to fake when they also mentioned an older friend of hers that she felt was like a sister to her, and how that friend had a crush on him for a while now.
She sat in an oversized sweater and running shorts, legs pulled up to her chest, on a chair in front of the desk in her room. She had been reading shoujo manga for three hours, reading through countless happy endings despite seemingly hopeless situations, and her heart had been questioning itself. She knew that her unrequited love was hopeless. He was obviously too good for her. But she found some strange solace in a small thought: at least I can like him.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Chapter 45: Man, it sucks to move on
I was looking back at the essay you wrote about me that you sent to me in the freshman year. It sucks that I bet you don't feel the same about me. Everything sucks. You just ignore me now and you make me feel like shit. I hate that. But I can't even hate you because I keep thinking that you're just like this. You're tired. You just get tired of people. You'll come around. You'll stop being so mean and bitchy. Whatever.
The thing is, you used to be some of the reason I would cut. And then you were the reason I stopped.
Now there's no reason not to.
I tried to go back and find the conversations we had long time ago. When we actually had good feelings toward each other. I couldn't. They had long gone with my old computer. It made me a little sad to realize this because I knew you had the conversations still, and I couldn't ask you for them.
All I have are the poems you wrote me, and the first fight we had. I don't have anything since then.
I hope you're reading these. Just kidding. I hope you're not. Then you'd know how messed up I probably am.
I hope you know that I don't love you anymore. I'm trying as hard as I can to move on. I'm 95% loaded already. I'm trying hard to be done, and you make it easy and hard at the same time, thanks.
I hate how you can be so insensitive. I know you're just fishing for a reaction. I don't want to respond though. I always feel to stupid around you. I hate myself when I'm with you.
The thing is, you used to be some of the reason I would cut. And then you were the reason I stopped.
Now there's no reason not to.
I tried to go back and find the conversations we had long time ago. When we actually had good feelings toward each other. I couldn't. They had long gone with my old computer. It made me a little sad to realize this because I knew you had the conversations still, and I couldn't ask you for them.
All I have are the poems you wrote me, and the first fight we had. I don't have anything since then.
I hope you're reading these. Just kidding. I hope you're not. Then you'd know how messed up I probably am.
I hope you know that I don't love you anymore. I'm trying as hard as I can to move on. I'm 95% loaded already. I'm trying hard to be done, and you make it easy and hard at the same time, thanks.
I hate how you can be so insensitive. I know you're just fishing for a reaction. I don't want to respond though. I always feel to stupid around you. I hate myself when I'm with you.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Chapter 44: Music and Books
Books I want to read because John Green said they were good:
The art of fielding chad harbach
Ballad of the whiskey trooper
Behind the beautiful forevers
Sula toni Morrison
The blood of the lamb
Telegraph avenue
Bossypants
The magicians lev grossman
Wolf hall
Emperor of all maladies
The disreputable history of frankie landau banks
Everybody sees the ants
If I stay gale foreman
To say nothing of the dog
Pd james
Dorothy parker
Songs that I like that I found out about recently:
Angels- the xx
A Case of You- James Blake
Girl with One Eye- Florence and the Machine
Crave you Feat. Giselle- Flight Facilities
Something About Us- Daft Punk
Stars- the xx
Heart Skipped a Beat- the xx
Waltz for one- real tuesday weld
Sparks- Coldplay
love me- yiruma
Waltz for one- real tuesday weld
Sparks- Coldplay
love me- yiruma
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Chapter 43: Please be chill about this. It seems like a lot more than it is. It's just.. ugh.
If you ever read this, this is how I feel about you.
I love you. I know you don't feel the same for me. You just don't. And even if you say you like me, there are going to be times for you where you won't like me because you don't feel like feeling it even though there will also be times where you do.
And I also know that when I like you, I will always have more emotion and more of myself invested in you than you will have anything invested in me. I know this because you said so. You said that even if you didn't have me or if I left you, you wouldn't mind so much. You wouldn't care. You don't mean this in a bad way. You never do. It kills me though. It hurts so much. You leave me in a bad way. And it makes me want to leave a scar that shows me that I am hurting. But it would hurt you to find out that you're some of the reason for my scars. So never mind. So anyways. This is why I ended it between us. Even though I still like you. Even though I might possibly still love you. But what do you want from me? What do you want me to be? It hurts, it hurts.
Sometimes I lie awake and think about what might have been. What would it have been like if I didn't end it between us those two times and what would it be like if you loved me and what would it be like if you were capable of loving me. What would it be like if I didn't love you but I know that this is not possible. Because of how amazing you are. And it hurts. And then I get up in the dark and walk to my desk and pull out a small knife and make the cuts on my skin and put a bandage on the cut and go back to bed. And I close my eyes and shut them tight and feel the small cut throb with my chest and my head and try to push all feeling out of my mind and wait for the excruciatingly slow dark of sleep to overcome me.
I love you. I know you don't feel the same for me. You just don't. And even if you say you like me, there are going to be times for you where you won't like me because you don't feel like feeling it even though there will also be times where you do.
And I also know that when I like you, I will always have more emotion and more of myself invested in you than you will have anything invested in me. I know this because you said so. You said that even if you didn't have me or if I left you, you wouldn't mind so much. You wouldn't care. You don't mean this in a bad way. You never do. It kills me though. It hurts so much. You leave me in a bad way. And it makes me want to leave a scar that shows me that I am hurting. But it would hurt you to find out that you're some of the reason for my scars. So never mind. So anyways. This is why I ended it between us. Even though I still like you. Even though I might possibly still love you. But what do you want from me? What do you want me to be? It hurts, it hurts.
Sometimes I lie awake and think about what might have been. What would it have been like if I didn't end it between us those two times and what would it be like if you loved me and what would it be like if you were capable of loving me. What would it be like if I didn't love you but I know that this is not possible. Because of how amazing you are. And it hurts. And then I get up in the dark and walk to my desk and pull out a small knife and make the cuts on my skin and put a bandage on the cut and go back to bed. And I close my eyes and shut them tight and feel the small cut throb with my chest and my head and try to push all feeling out of my mind and wait for the excruciatingly slow dark of sleep to overcome me.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Chapter 42: What I would do to you
I search for you as I quicken my pace down the hall
People streaming in all directions around me
I search for your face, for your hair, your build
I find you
And grab your arm
And spin you in
With my arms around your neck,
Your arms around my waist
and I kiss you
I shuffle, shivering in the winter morning air
My tea is spilling from its thermos and
My textbook is slipping from my heavily sleeved arms
I see you
And run to you
My things falling
And bump you with my body
And you laugh
And help me pick up my things
a morning kiss to wake me up
After school, the sun is high in the sky and I sigh
My back is heavy and so are my arms and my eyes
But I walk with light feet to the open gate
And meet you
And squeeze you
In my arms
And hold you
Because you are mine
And I'll tell you I want you
And you'll say
me too
People streaming in all directions around me
I search for your face, for your hair, your build
I find you
And grab your arm
And spin you in
With my arms around your neck,
Your arms around my waist
and I kiss you
I shuffle, shivering in the winter morning air
My tea is spilling from its thermos and
My textbook is slipping from my heavily sleeved arms
I see you
And run to you
My things falling
And bump you with my body
And you laugh
And help me pick up my things
a morning kiss to wake me up
After school, the sun is high in the sky and I sigh
My back is heavy and so are my arms and my eyes
But I walk with light feet to the open gate
And meet you
And squeeze you
In my arms
And hold you
Because you are mine
And I'll tell you I want you
And you'll say
me too
Chapter 41: I just want to hold you close
Every time she saw him, she thought he was just like her. He was strong. His eyes held a flinty hardness about them that made her apprehensive about showing any signs of affection toward him. But there was something behind that. After a joke, his eyes dropped, emotion lost, and so did his face. When he thought she wasn't looking, he'd look at her longingly, but cautiously, as if he wanted her to touch him, to hold him, but wasn't going to ask her because that would betray the wall he had built around himself. And she wanted him, too. She saw that his eyes were lonely, that his body seemed to lean inward with insecurity and aloneness. His smiles were real half the time, and half the time his cruel, sharp retorts jabbed at anyone who tried to become to familiar with him, anyone who might pity him. She wanted to hold him close. She wanted him to not be so alone. She wanted to hold his body tightly, press his warm body close against her own and show him that she loved him. She wanted her feelings to touch his loneliness and reach his tiredness and help him be happy
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Chapter 40: Ignoring me isn't helping anyone
"I'm in a relationship." I blurted it out, suddenly, apologetically.
He blinked. "Okay..."
"I mean, I'm going out with this guy I've liked for three years." I laughed.
"Isn't that just sad?"
"It's not sad if you're finally with someone you've been in love with for so long. Good for you."
He smiled a bit, but I didn't see it reach his eyes.
I shook my head. "I didn't say I loved him. I said I liked him. That sounds bad. Sorry." I didn't know what to say. I was being such a bitch. I knew he loved me. I knew he'd loved me for four years now. What was I doing, I was being such a bitch.
"Oh." He turned away from me a bit, turning his attention back to his book. The back of my neck was buzzing now. I wanted to confront him. I wanted to be a bitch. I wanted him to tell me he loved me.
"Is that it? Are you mad at me now?"
"Why would I be mad? Isn't that a little juvenile? I'm happy for you." His voice was light, controlled.
"Then why aren't you saying anything?" My eyebrows furrowed. He still refused to look up. He still refused to look at me.
"What do you want me to say? Tell me. What do you expect me to say?" He looked up at me now. The suddenness of his eyes on mine made me look away, my head jolted.
"I...I don't know. Forget I said anything." I looked away, ashamed. Maybe he was mad at me now. Maybe he didn't care. I shouldn't care anyway. I was in a relationship. I was taken.
He blinked. "Okay..."
"I mean, I'm going out with this guy I've liked for three years." I laughed.
"Isn't that just sad?"
"It's not sad if you're finally with someone you've been in love with for so long. Good for you."
He smiled a bit, but I didn't see it reach his eyes.
I shook my head. "I didn't say I loved him. I said I liked him. That sounds bad. Sorry." I didn't know what to say. I was being such a bitch. I knew he loved me. I knew he'd loved me for four years now. What was I doing, I was being such a bitch.
"Oh." He turned away from me a bit, turning his attention back to his book. The back of my neck was buzzing now. I wanted to confront him. I wanted to be a bitch. I wanted him to tell me he loved me.
"Is that it? Are you mad at me now?"
"Why would I be mad? Isn't that a little juvenile? I'm happy for you." His voice was light, controlled.
"Then why aren't you saying anything?" My eyebrows furrowed. He still refused to look up. He still refused to look at me.
"What do you want me to say? Tell me. What do you expect me to say?" He looked up at me now. The suddenness of his eyes on mine made me look away, my head jolted.
"I...I don't know. Forget I said anything." I looked away, ashamed. Maybe he was mad at me now. Maybe he didn't care. I shouldn't care anyway. I was in a relationship. I was taken.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
I probably cut myself for a different reason than you do
I cut myself when there's too much happening in my life that I can't handle. But that's not what different.
I don't cut myself because I want attention. I make the cuts so small that I can easily blame the injury on some type of accident. A small cut on my hand, on my arm, on my shin. But mostly my hands.
I don't cut myself to make a visual and physical representation for the emotional and mental pain I feel that I don't know how to deal with. I used to, until I felt that cold blade on my skin.
I cut myself cause the sharp pain shocks me back into reality. The blood and pain tells me that there's always worse than what I'm feeling right now. The almost invisible, tiny scars remind me to keep on going. They tell me I'm strong enough to handle what's going on. That's why I cut. It's not suicidal or because of depression or because I want attention. And I'm not saying its a good thing that I'm harming myself. Because it could easily be prevented if I had friends who cared or if I actually cared enough to talk about what going on or if I weren't addicted just a little to the short pain and thrill of it all. I'm just saying, I cut for a different reason. That doesn't detract from the fact that I cut and I need help.
I don't cut myself because I want attention. I make the cuts so small that I can easily blame the injury on some type of accident. A small cut on my hand, on my arm, on my shin. But mostly my hands.
I don't cut myself to make a visual and physical representation for the emotional and mental pain I feel that I don't know how to deal with. I used to, until I felt that cold blade on my skin.
I cut myself cause the sharp pain shocks me back into reality. The blood and pain tells me that there's always worse than what I'm feeling right now. The almost invisible, tiny scars remind me to keep on going. They tell me I'm strong enough to handle what's going on. That's why I cut. It's not suicidal or because of depression or because I want attention. And I'm not saying its a good thing that I'm harming myself. Because it could easily be prevented if I had friends who cared or if I actually cared enough to talk about what going on or if I weren't addicted just a little to the short pain and thrill of it all. I'm just saying, I cut for a different reason. That doesn't detract from the fact that I cut and I need help.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Chapter 39: I'm not crazy
Sorry if you read this blog.
It's really
Just me
Ranting about the people in my life
That I can't just tell things to
With my words.
And If you ever think I'm crazy
Cause you read through all my posts
At once
Like I just did,
Just remember
That I've had this blog for two years now
And a lot has happened
With a lot of different people.
I'm not crazy.
It's really
Just me
Ranting about the people in my life
That I can't just tell things to
With my words.
And If you ever think I'm crazy
Cause you read through all my posts
At once
Like I just did,
Just remember
That I've had this blog for two years now
And a lot has happened
With a lot of different people.
I'm not crazy.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Chapter 38: Best Friend
They tell us we can go upstairs, so we do. We race each other up the stairs, glad for an excuse to get away from the monotonous drone of the adults. We find a movie we can watch and turn the lights off. Our faces are illuminated by the screen, and I can hear him breathing beside me. It's very occasionally that he can come over to my house, but when he does, our parents take forever to catch up. We could be up here for hours and hours before they finally call us to go. I sit beside him, our backs against the bed. I put my shoulder under his, and feel his bicep press against me. I can feel his muscles ripple as he shifts for a more comfortable position beside me. I move my leg nonchalantly along his, and place my foot underneath his outstretched leg. The prolonged touch causes him to look at me, but the darkness of the room covers any hints from my expression. I let his hand rest beside him, his fingers uncurled and open beside him: an invitation. I don't take it. If I do, it'll be consent. It'll be a commitment. The hands are first, I think, then the heart. I can't risk either. But I can't help but imagine when he feels like. And I give in to the urge. I take his fingers in mine. Slowly, I snake my fingertips down his wrist and let them between his fingers. His eyes concentrate on the movie, but his hand reacts to me, twitching closed around mine. The warmth of his hand is surprising to my cold fingers and I blink in surprise as my heart beats louder. I stand up suddenly, then sit down on his lap facing him, one leg around either side of him. He starts to speak but I stop him with a hand over his mouth. I unlock my fingers from his, and find my way to his chest. I can feel the rapid beating of his heartbeat, as well as the catch in his breathing as I make contact with his torso. I run my fingers down his torso, tracing the curve of his muscles and their firm lines. His hands shift to around my waist and pull me closer to him. He wraps me in an embrace that almost pushes all the air out of me. He whispers in my ear: I've wanted you for so long. You have no idea how long I've waited for this. I can't breathe. I don't know if this is my heart resonating through my body so loudly, or if it's his. I whisper back to him, so softly that even I can't be sure if I hear: I love you.
Chapter 37: Addicted to heartbreak
I'll only tell you
I love you
When I'm certain that you'll turn me down
When I'm sure you'll feel nothing in return
When I can be sure of when I'll hurt
And not be taken off guard
When you break my heart.
I think I'm afraid of commitment.
I'll only hold your hand
In the dark
Where we can't be exposed
And when the lights turn back on
We can pretend it never happened
And I won't have to say it
Was anything other than a mistake.
I'll only hold you close
In my dreams
Where you're mine and you know it
Where there isn't anything keeping us apart
And where, when I wake up,
You won't know why
My heart is broken.
I love you
When I'm certain that you'll turn me down
When I'm sure you'll feel nothing in return
When I can be sure of when I'll hurt
And not be taken off guard
When you break my heart.
I think I'm afraid of commitment.
I'll only hold your hand
In the dark
Where we can't be exposed
And when the lights turn back on
We can pretend it never happened
And I won't have to say it
Was anything other than a mistake.
I'll only hold you close
In my dreams
Where you're mine and you know it
Where there isn't anything keeping us apart
And where, when I wake up,
You won't know why
My heart is broken.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Chapter 36: A teenage kiss
We're alone in his room. This was a bad decision. Something's going I happen that I'll probably regret. He's sitting close to me, and I eye him warily. He turns and looks at me, puts his hand on mine. I was right, something's going to happen. I don't know what to do. His eyes are clouded with lust and purpose. They burn a deep, deep chocolate, and his cheeks are a bit flushed. He's only a moment away. I can feel his breath on my skin. It's hot and almost feverish, and burns my neck and lips. I close my eyes. As much as I don't want something like this to progress between us, I can't help imagine what it would be like. I let him place his lips on mine, and feel the damp lips hot against mine. He moves his hand from mine and drags it to my shoulder. The other he places on my neck, securing my lips against his as if he can read my mind. I pull back and detach his mouth from mine. His lips don't stop. They move along my face, creating a tingling trail from my cheeks, along my jawline, down my neck. He suckles my collar bone, then moves back up to the side of my neck, below my ear. His hands are at my waist, and I raise my hands to touch him, too. I feel his back, trace his spine, then bring my fingers to the front and feel the firmness of his chest. I reach one hand up to the nape of his neck, and stroke it, as he makes his way back up to my mouth. His lips beg entrance and I let him in, and explore with my tongue his teeth, his tongue. I feel him smile. I push him off of me, and look away.
Chapter 35: Your Body
I love you for your body.
I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but I love your for your physical self.
I've fallen for your warmth. I'm head over heels for the heat your arms emanate; I can feel them calling to me when I'm inches away from your skin.
I've fallen your your build. I love the slope of your shoulders, the width of your back.
My lips want to taste the hollows and nape of your neck.
My lungs want to breathe the air tainted with your subtle scent.
My waist wants to be enveloped by your hands; my fingers yearn to touch your twists and turns.
I love you for your body, and for the way you make mine feel.
I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but I love your for your physical self.
I've fallen for your warmth. I'm head over heels for the heat your arms emanate; I can feel them calling to me when I'm inches away from your skin.
I've fallen your your build. I love the slope of your shoulders, the width of your back.
My lips want to taste the hollows and nape of your neck.
My lungs want to breathe the air tainted with your subtle scent.
My waist wants to be enveloped by your hands; my fingers yearn to touch your twists and turns.
I love you for your body, and for the way you make mine feel.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Chapter 34: Sorry I'm such a sociopath
It's about how you feel about me.
Not that I'm rejecting you, but
I just wanted to let you know that
I'm well aware of how you've felt about me
since I was in the seventh grade
and that I've had plenty of time to think about it.
It's about how I feel about you.
Not that I'm confessing, but I've felt the same
about you as you feel about me
at some point, and I guess if there weren't all these things
in the way, I'd act on my feelings.
I mean, not that I'm confessing.
I think what I've meant to say is that
maybe I don't know what to feel.
Or how this should feel.
I mean, what should love feel like?
If it's enough that you're different to me
than other guys...then I guess that's how I feel.
But hey. If you told me how you feel
about me, I'd reject you. And if you asked me
how I feel about you, I'd tell you
that I can't. So don't. I don't want things to change
so don't give them reason to change.
Please. Sorry I'm such a sociopath.
Not that I'm rejecting you, but
I just wanted to let you know that
I'm well aware of how you've felt about me
since I was in the seventh grade
and that I've had plenty of time to think about it.
It's about how I feel about you.
Not that I'm confessing, but I've felt the same
about you as you feel about me
at some point, and I guess if there weren't all these things
in the way, I'd act on my feelings.
I mean, not that I'm confessing.
I think what I've meant to say is that
maybe I don't know what to feel.
Or how this should feel.
I mean, what should love feel like?
If it's enough that you're different to me
than other guys...then I guess that's how I feel.
But hey. If you told me how you feel
about me, I'd reject you. And if you asked me
how I feel about you, I'd tell you
that I can't. So don't. I don't want things to change
so don't give them reason to change.
Please. Sorry I'm such a sociopath.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Chapter 33: Moving On
Moving on
I mean, at least you are
From the way you're treating me
Nowadays
Even my ex
doesn't avoid me as much as you do
And I guess
The silent treatment is supposed to mean
Something
Or is supposed to make me react
In a certain way.
But you'll never know
(haha)
Because you don't have my blog
(But a few strangers will)
I just hope you don't
Forget me
And make us like
Strangers again
Because that happens way too often
When people
Move on.
I mean, at least you are
From the way you're treating me
Nowadays
Even my ex
doesn't avoid me as much as you do
And I guess
The silent treatment is supposed to mean
Something
Or is supposed to make me react
In a certain way.
But you'll never know
(haha)
Because you don't have my blog
(But a few strangers will)
I just hope you don't
Forget me
And make us like
Strangers again
Because that happens way too often
When people
Move on.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Chapter 32: Reality
Liar
You don't love me
Even more than you love
A lamp
Glancing at me
Once in a while
Does nothing to show your
Affections
Making small talk
And making things awkward
Conveys no feelings
At all.
You don't love me
Even more than you love
A lamp
Glancing at me
Once in a while
Does nothing to show your
Affections
Making small talk
And making things awkward
Conveys no feelings
At all.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Chapter 31: Like you used to
You have no idea how I wish things were the same again.
But I know they'll never be because
You don't love me like you used to.
And all those times I'd wished for some kind of reconciliation,
Something to possible stitch us back up together,
Something you do or say reminds me that it would be impossible.
I know you don't love me like you used to.
But my dreams have not changed
And my heart still needs to get used to not beating so fast when you're near.
You don't love me like you used to, I know.
But I still love you.
But I know they'll never be because
You don't love me like you used to.
And all those times I'd wished for some kind of reconciliation,
Something to possible stitch us back up together,
Something you do or say reminds me that it would be impossible.
I know you don't love me like you used to.
But my dreams have not changed
And my heart still needs to get used to not beating so fast when you're near.
You don't love me like you used to, I know.
But I still love you.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Whatever you guys
Whatever rifraff reads this blog, I don't need you to
vote at the very bottom
on what I should write. I can write about things that happen to me all on my own.
Especially with the great inspiration I have in my "love life"
which we all know isn't a love life at all, but merely
a figment of my imagination
a fantasy about people who probably don't feel the same
and aren't even thinking about me that this very second
wait sorry you guys.
This post wasn't supposed to get so angsty. ok bye.
vote at the very bottom
on what I should write. I can write about things that happen to me all on my own.
Especially with the great inspiration I have in my "love life"
which we all know isn't a love life at all, but merely
a figment of my imagination
a fantasy about people who probably don't feel the same
and aren't even thinking about me that this very second
wait sorry you guys.
This post wasn't supposed to get so angsty. ok bye.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Chapter 30: On the bus ride home.
Sleeping on his shoulder was like a sleeping on a pillow, I said.
He was extremely soft and molded into my shape effortlessly.
Sleeping on another's shoulder was like an electric blanket, I said.
He was warm and caring, protective like a blanket makes you feel.
I told you this, and you asked me what you were.
What sleeping on your shoulder felt like.
I couldn't tell you.
I couldn't explain to you that you were just as warm,
just as protective, just as comfortable.
I wouldn't tell you that your body felt so made for mine,
as if we were two puzzle pieces what had
Just found the other piece.
I couldn't place you as one thing because
If I told you that you were perfect
that you were like nothing else, you would have known.
You would have been able to guess
that I loved you.
And that would have just been kind of awkward.
He was extremely soft and molded into my shape effortlessly.
Sleeping on another's shoulder was like an electric blanket, I said.
He was warm and caring, protective like a blanket makes you feel.
I told you this, and you asked me what you were.
What sleeping on your shoulder felt like.
I couldn't tell you.
I couldn't explain to you that you were just as warm,
just as protective, just as comfortable.
I wouldn't tell you that your body felt so made for mine,
as if we were two puzzle pieces what had
Just found the other piece.
I couldn't place you as one thing because
If I told you that you were perfect
that you were like nothing else, you would have known.
You would have been able to guess
that I loved you.
And that would have just been kind of awkward.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Chapter 29: The problem with "fed up nice guys"
I'm tired.
I'm tired of how you just think everything revolves around you. I am trying so hard to just be friends with you at this point, that I'm beginning to wonder if all this energy spent on you is even worth it.
You see, when things used to be just effortless, when we would gravitate towards each other simply because it was comfortable to be near one another, I would have, without skipping a beat, confirmed that we were friends. More than friends, even, more like family. But that wasn't what you wanted was it? Was any of this even worth it for you, then? Was being my friend worth all those nights spent wishing you could have me? And is this, ignoring me, is this what you do when you don't get what you can't have?
Thanks. It really makes me feel better to know that apparently you didn't value me enough to think of me as a good friend. When for me, a good friend is so hard to find. I could have spent my whole life with you as one of the most important people in my life.
I probably sound really stuck up and full of it right now, but I just feel like, if you can't stay my friend when things get hard, how can I even consider you as someone I'd want to keep around and rely on in my life? How can you expect to be anything more than just an acquaintance when you skip out on me at the first sign of discomfort?
A good relationship starts with a good friendship, yes? Things get in the way and things happen, but a good friend sticks around and makes things worth it. And when we experience these things together, that's when the trust forms. And that's where the relationship forms.
But I guess I wasn't worth it. So I'm tired of pretending you are.
I'm tired of how you just think everything revolves around you. I am trying so hard to just be friends with you at this point, that I'm beginning to wonder if all this energy spent on you is even worth it.
You see, when things used to be just effortless, when we would gravitate towards each other simply because it was comfortable to be near one another, I would have, without skipping a beat, confirmed that we were friends. More than friends, even, more like family. But that wasn't what you wanted was it? Was any of this even worth it for you, then? Was being my friend worth all those nights spent wishing you could have me? And is this, ignoring me, is this what you do when you don't get what you can't have?
Thanks. It really makes me feel better to know that apparently you didn't value me enough to think of me as a good friend. When for me, a good friend is so hard to find. I could have spent my whole life with you as one of the most important people in my life.
I probably sound really stuck up and full of it right now, but I just feel like, if you can't stay my friend when things get hard, how can I even consider you as someone I'd want to keep around and rely on in my life? How can you expect to be anything more than just an acquaintance when you skip out on me at the first sign of discomfort?
A good relationship starts with a good friendship, yes? Things get in the way and things happen, but a good friend sticks around and makes things worth it. And when we experience these things together, that's when the trust forms. And that's where the relationship forms.
But I guess I wasn't worth it. So I'm tired of pretending you are.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Notification: a new blog will be opening soon :)) (September 10)
http://williamandamelia.blogspot.com
if you're interested. It'll be a sort of romance fiction, and between two people named Will and Amy.
I'll continue posting on this blog, however. I just need interesting things to happen to me.
PLEASE COMMENT AND VOTE BELOW :O
if you're interested. It'll be a sort of romance fiction, and between two people named Will and Amy.
I'll continue posting on this blog, however. I just need interesting things to happen to me.
PLEASE COMMENT AND VOTE BELOW :O
Thursday, September 6, 2012
(Just to clarify something)
If you haven't already picked it up, I'm writing about two different people:
1) the person I refer to in "Noah" and "The Beginning of the End"
2) the person in "the train ride" and "why I love piano so much" (or whatever that one's called)
One has liked me for two years, one I have liked for two years. They both have December birthdays and very similar personalities, although one is younger than I am, and one is older.
I'm sorry if you got confused or concerned about my topsy turvy love life or whatever :P
Just a notification :)
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
THE NEW RULE IS THAT IF YOU READ IT, YOU HAVE TO COMMENT OR SOMETHING
you read it, you comment >;T
P.S. there's a poll at the bottom of the blog, if you're too lazy to write anything to me );
ok, sorry, I fixed it (edit)
P.S. there's a poll at the bottom of the blog, if you're too lazy to write anything to me );
ok, sorry, I fixed it (edit)
Chapter 28: Something smutty
She stands, immobile, as he closes his eyes and moves in towards her. There is no hesitation as his lips meet hers, crashing excitedly into her teeth. Her eyes are open, and soon, so is her mouth. As he exploringly intertwines his tongue with hers, his hands move from resting on the couch to her hips. They pull her torso closer to his, not necessarily in a more comfortable position, but so that he can feel her warmth exciting him.
She moves her hands to his chest so that her position will be less awkward, and makes the observation that his muscles tensed nicely as he concentrated on his tongue. He traces his way downwards and feels for the bottom of her shirt. Sliding the fabric upwards, his fingers land like a blind man on her hot back, her taut belly, the soft, untouched skin. She shivers as the cold fingers flit over her, wandering, and meeting at the base of her spine. From there, they begin to slide even more upwards, scrunching the fabric with them.
She knows what to do, and takes her hands from their position on his chest to slowly unbutton his shirt. She fumbles at them for a while, distracted by his lips, which are now on a downwards path from her mouth to her neck. Involuntary murmurs escape her lips as his hot lips suckle her pulse, then move down to her collar bone. She finally removes his shirt, finding another under it. Undaunted, she slides her fingers under it, relishing the feel of his abdomen, and even higher, his chest.
She moves her hands to his chest so that her position will be less awkward, and makes the observation that his muscles tensed nicely as he concentrated on his tongue. He traces his way downwards and feels for the bottom of her shirt. Sliding the fabric upwards, his fingers land like a blind man on her hot back, her taut belly, the soft, untouched skin. She shivers as the cold fingers flit over her, wandering, and meeting at the base of her spine. From there, they begin to slide even more upwards, scrunching the fabric with them.
She knows what to do, and takes her hands from their position on his chest to slowly unbutton his shirt. She fumbles at them for a while, distracted by his lips, which are now on a downwards path from her mouth to her neck. Involuntary murmurs escape her lips as his hot lips suckle her pulse, then move down to her collar bone. She finally removes his shirt, finding another under it. Undaunted, she slides her fingers under it, relishing the feel of his abdomen, and even higher, his chest.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Chapter 27: Goodbye
He started to unfold
the note she had slipped into his backpack. He smiled bitterly. The note was
folded as an envelope, like always. It smelled faintly of her.
“Meet me in the first 200 wing, right after school tomorrow. Please, come alone.”
“Meet me in the first 200 wing, right after school tomorrow. Please, come alone.”
He checked his watch.
He wouldn’t see her again today, because school had just ended and he didn’t
have any classes with her anyways. He wondered what she wanted.
If it had been a year ago, he would have been thrilled to get this request from her. His mind would have been spinning with the possibilities and reasons why she could possibly have wanted to see him. Alone.
If it had been a year ago, he would have been thrilled to get this request from her. His mind would have been spinning with the possibilities and reasons why she could possibly have wanted to see him. Alone.
The
next day, she was on his mind constantly. He grimaced whenever she popped into
his mind because he knew that was why she gave him the note a day before, just
to be on his mind. But he knew he had to acknowledge her cleverness.
Finally,
the bell rang, signalling the temporary freedom of the students and teachers
alike. He made an excuse, waved goodbye to all of his friends, and slowly made
his way to the first 200 building. When it was in his sight, seeing nothing, he
was about to turn around when he saw a slight movement from within the shadows.
Walking cautiously closer, he came to a corner. She stepped out from behind it,
looking at the floor. He noticed she had gotten a haircut. Her hair was shorter
than when he had last seen her.
“Well?
You called me here,” he started. He hesitated, noting the forlorn look on her
face. She lifted her eyes a bit, not quite looking into his eyes, but just
behind him. He resisted the urge to turn around and check if there was anybody
behind him, even knowing that they were the only ones there.
“Who is she?” She
asked in a quiet voice, making him a bit unsure if he had heard her correctly.
“Who?”
“I heard you liked a girl in you class. Who is she?”
“…I…Where did you hear it from?”
“Who?”
“I heard you liked a girl in you class. Who is she?”
“…I…Where did you hear it from?”
She tilted her head,
finally looking him in the eyes.
“Stop playing around”
She stepped closer.
“Tell me. I think I deserve to know. After all you put me through.”
Another step.
“Stop playing around”
She stepped closer.
“Tell me. I think I deserve to know. After all you put me through.”
Another step.
“I don’t know what
youre…”
“YES, yes you do. STOP lying to me.”
“Calm down..”
“STOP telling me what to do!”
“Ok, I’m sorry”
“YES, yes you do. STOP lying to me.”
“Calm down..”
“STOP telling me what to do!”
“Ok, I’m sorry”
A step closer. They
were a foot apart now. He could smell her, she smelled slightly nostalgic, and
he shook his head, thinking about it.
He stepped closer instinctively.
He stepped closer instinctively.
“I..”
“…”
“…”
She felt his breath on
her neck. She held hers.
He inhaled, savoring her smell, remembering it.
All her thoughts disappeared, and she raised her hand to his cheek hesitantly. He lifted his hand over hers. Their breaths almost in sync, she closed her eyes while he gently placed his lips onto hers. He raised his other hand to her neck, but felt something drop on his hand. Touching her cheek, he realized it was tears. He pulled apart, and she looked away, her wavy chestnut hair covering her face. Then, covering her mouth with her hands, she turned and ran.
He inhaled, savoring her smell, remembering it.
All her thoughts disappeared, and she raised her hand to his cheek hesitantly. He lifted his hand over hers. Their breaths almost in sync, she closed her eyes while he gently placed his lips onto hers. He raised his other hand to her neck, but felt something drop on his hand. Touching her cheek, he realized it was tears. He pulled apart, and she looked away, her wavy chestnut hair covering her face. Then, covering her mouth with her hands, she turned and ran.
Without
a second thought, he ran after her. Catching up to her with ease, he grabbed
her arm, slowing her to a stop. She was looking away, so he said it to her
back.
“I’m
sorry…I..I cant love you”
“Goodbye.”
Chapter 26: The End of the Beginning
We met on the December of 2009. It was the end of the first semester of the eighth grade.
We talked about unicorns and dragons; which one was better.
You chose dragons, so I had to choose unicorns just so I could hold a conversation with you.
Then came the meaningful spams, the exchange of songs (you gave me several long playlists that I tried very hard to complete), and inside jokes including replacing "haha" with "pickle pickle", velociraptors, and you writing me stories.
We both loved andrea bocelli's "cant help falling in love" and would text the lyrics of that song to each other in all CAPS.
We stayed up long nights together, writing poetry with subliminal messages,
me writing a poem good enough for you right before I went to sleep, and
waking up in the mornings with the anticipation of a response in the morning.
You never failed to impress me, but looking back now, I smile sadly at our childish antics.
I remember being so impressed at your ability to play violin, after having heard you play only once,
and aspired to be like you. I restarted violin the following year, just so I could be in the same class as you. (What's ironic is, now that I finally am, we're strangers again).
I remember your lunches that I always wanted to eat, I remember the corny pick up lines we exchanged once we finally got together,
I remember exchanging books with you, after...that...just so I could continue talking with you
when I have no excuse to otherwise.
I hated you. I loved you.
I remember the poems you wrote me.
I remember all those times you analyzed me, thinking you knew me.
I remember these things like they were yesterday.
I remember you like you were yesterday, so it still hurts like it was yesterday.
We talked about unicorns and dragons; which one was better.
You chose dragons, so I had to choose unicorns just so I could hold a conversation with you.
Then came the meaningful spams, the exchange of songs (you gave me several long playlists that I tried very hard to complete), and inside jokes including replacing "haha" with "pickle pickle", velociraptors, and you writing me stories.
We both loved andrea bocelli's "cant help falling in love" and would text the lyrics of that song to each other in all CAPS.
We stayed up long nights together, writing poetry with subliminal messages,
me writing a poem good enough for you right before I went to sleep, and
waking up in the mornings with the anticipation of a response in the morning.
You never failed to impress me, but looking back now, I smile sadly at our childish antics.
I remember being so impressed at your ability to play violin, after having heard you play only once,
and aspired to be like you. I restarted violin the following year, just so I could be in the same class as you. (What's ironic is, now that I finally am, we're strangers again).
I remember your lunches that I always wanted to eat, I remember the corny pick up lines we exchanged once we finally got together,
I remember exchanging books with you, after...that...just so I could continue talking with you
when I have no excuse to otherwise.
I hated you. I loved you.
I remember the poems you wrote me.
I remember all those times you analyzed me, thinking you knew me.
I remember these things like they were yesterday.
I remember you like you were yesterday, so it still hurts like it was yesterday.
Chapter 25: (Sorry, I realize I'd already posted the previous one, so here's a filler)
On writing an autobiography:
I have nothing against it. Seriously, some may think that writing a book all about one's own achievements may get boring and have no relative importance, but hey, that's the one thing someone can talk about for hours on end: oneself. I mean, if I could get paid to write my life's story, I most definitely would, but since I'm a yet-to-be-discovered wonder, blogs are all I can get. And, being a textbook narcissist and wallower, I've filled up this blog with romanticized stories and nonsense about a world I wish I lived in. I look around me, and I realize that I hate a lot of people. Actually, no, not hate, really. I just...I don't particularly care for their existence, which is worse (and it's even more sad that I get emotionally attached to the problems of others whereas the problems of people in real life only serve to annoy me and make me all existential and whatnot). Why, you ask (you really didn't ask)? It's because humans are so shallow. There is an extraordinarily little amount of people who actually don't care about what others think, or even say, and those singular people, not the hyped up hippies we see today, are the real hipsters. Underground music choice doesn't make you different from others. Dressing like a fashionable slut or grandpa doesn't, either. But I'm getting off on tangent here. What I mean about people being shallow is that all they think about are the here and now, like, the people I see around me worry so much about the next quiz or the boy they think likes them, or about hating other people (see a trend here?). And what makes me hate them even more is that I'm exactly like them, is not worse. At least other people are getting somewhere. I've talked to some people who I don't necessarily regaurd as the great thinkers of our generation (not that I am either), and nearly all of them have a goal in life and are working towards it. Nevermind that most of them are goals driven into them at a very young age, or that monetary gains are a main drive behind them. But with myself, I don't even have a goal in life. I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing, or who I am. I'm just a nothing person going nowhere, and hating others for being a step ahead of me. jiodhagkl.
I have nothing against it. Seriously, some may think that writing a book all about one's own achievements may get boring and have no relative importance, but hey, that's the one thing someone can talk about for hours on end: oneself. I mean, if I could get paid to write my life's story, I most definitely would, but since I'm a yet-to-be-discovered wonder, blogs are all I can get. And, being a textbook narcissist and wallower, I've filled up this blog with romanticized stories and nonsense about a world I wish I lived in. I look around me, and I realize that I hate a lot of people. Actually, no, not hate, really. I just...I don't particularly care for their existence, which is worse (and it's even more sad that I get emotionally attached to the problems of others whereas the problems of people in real life only serve to annoy me and make me all existential and whatnot). Why, you ask (you really didn't ask)? It's because humans are so shallow. There is an extraordinarily little amount of people who actually don't care about what others think, or even say, and those singular people, not the hyped up hippies we see today, are the real hipsters. Underground music choice doesn't make you different from others. Dressing like a fashionable slut or grandpa doesn't, either. But I'm getting off on tangent here. What I mean about people being shallow is that all they think about are the here and now, like, the people I see around me worry so much about the next quiz or the boy they think likes them, or about hating other people (see a trend here?). And what makes me hate them even more is that I'm exactly like them, is not worse. At least other people are getting somewhere. I've talked to some people who I don't necessarily regaurd as the great thinkers of our generation (not that I am either), and nearly all of them have a goal in life and are working towards it. Nevermind that most of them are goals driven into them at a very young age, or that monetary gains are a main drive behind them. But with myself, I don't even have a goal in life. I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing, or who I am. I'm just a nothing person going nowhere, and hating others for being a step ahead of me. jiodhagkl.
Chapter 24: A short story
Disclaimer: I did not write this story, a good friend of mine did.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a glass house in the forest. She had spent days constructing it, pouring her heart out into building it. And every day after it was finished, she would sit and wait for someone to come by and admire it, but sadly, no one was there to admire it but her own self. After a month, she felt wretched. Miserable and forlorn, every day after she would sit in her glass house, letting the sun beat down on her back as she wallowed in self-pity. One day, she was sitting in the center when she heard a crack. She looked and saw that one of the corners was a bit damaged. Suddenly, the crack grew wider and wider at a rapid pace. Alarmed, she reached for some duct tape and tried to patch it up, but to no avail. Cracks seemed to multiply as they zigzagged across the walls.
But just then, a boy venturing into the forest ambled through the clearing and saw at once the girl sitting in the middle of the cracking structure, fear in her eyes. He broke into a sprint, and dove through the broken glass to where she sat, trembling. And then the glass shattered. She passed out.
She woke up after a time, and slowly lifted her head. Memory came flooding back, and she stood up in alarm. The boy lie next to her, dead, with glass shards embedded into the back of his shirt. Blood stained the clear, sharpened pieces that surrounded them. Tears followed. He had died protecting her, a girl he had never known, without a second thought. And no matter what he may have really been like, the girl thought he was the most beautiful person she'd ever met.
The girl sat and and thought long after all tears had left her, but sobs still coursed through her body.
"This glass house I have built...it is just like my heart, so fragile and untouched."
She smiled a bitter smile. "This boy tried to pick up the broken pieces of my soul, but he only broke it further. And it's just as well that this house, built with all my heart, should perish beside it."
And with that, she closed her eyes and stopped sobbing.
And slowly picked up the closest piece of glass.
And stilled her beating heart, for it was already dead to the world.
With that, the last pieces of standing glass fell to the earth, and two bodies lay pierced and bloodied in the center, together for all to admire.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a glass house in the forest. She had spent days constructing it, pouring her heart out into building it. And every day after it was finished, she would sit and wait for someone to come by and admire it, but sadly, no one was there to admire it but her own self. After a month, she felt wretched. Miserable and forlorn, every day after she would sit in her glass house, letting the sun beat down on her back as she wallowed in self-pity. One day, she was sitting in the center when she heard a crack. She looked and saw that one of the corners was a bit damaged. Suddenly, the crack grew wider and wider at a rapid pace. Alarmed, she reached for some duct tape and tried to patch it up, but to no avail. Cracks seemed to multiply as they zigzagged across the walls.
But just then, a boy venturing into the forest ambled through the clearing and saw at once the girl sitting in the middle of the cracking structure, fear in her eyes. He broke into a sprint, and dove through the broken glass to where she sat, trembling. And then the glass shattered. She passed out.
She woke up after a time, and slowly lifted her head. Memory came flooding back, and she stood up in alarm. The boy lie next to her, dead, with glass shards embedded into the back of his shirt. Blood stained the clear, sharpened pieces that surrounded them. Tears followed. He had died protecting her, a girl he had never known, without a second thought. And no matter what he may have really been like, the girl thought he was the most beautiful person she'd ever met.
The girl sat and and thought long after all tears had left her, but sobs still coursed through her body.
"This glass house I have built...it is just like my heart, so fragile and untouched."
She smiled a bitter smile. "This boy tried to pick up the broken pieces of my soul, but he only broke it further. And it's just as well that this house, built with all my heart, should perish beside it."
And with that, she closed her eyes and stopped sobbing.
And slowly picked up the closest piece of glass.
And stilled her beating heart, for it was already dead to the world.
With that, the last pieces of standing glass fell to the earth, and two bodies lay pierced and bloodied in the center, together for all to admire.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Chapter 23: My Response
You asked me this. If there was ever a time when I had anticipated something for a long time, but when there actually came an opportunity for it, shrugged it off for another time. I know you were talking about telling me you loved me, but I laughed it off and, feigning ignorance, changed the subject. I can't do this anymore, and I don't know how to handle situations like these. Where I know you want nothing else but for me to know how you feel about me, and I want nothing else but for us to just be friends. You're young. And you live with the idea that one only lives once. And so you're willing to rush into love and relationships and titles and responsibilities. But I've seen and experienced the hardships and expectations that come with things like these, and I know for sure that I'm not ready for something like that. I'm fine if you like me, just don't tell me. I'll be close to you and treat you special, if we don't have to label what we have, or what we think we have. If there are no expectations, no ties, nothing official, I'm fine with it. Just don't expect me to admit anything, or to confess my true feelings. I'm not ready for anything like that. And anways, why can't we just have what we have now?
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Chapter 22: This is what I get for leading myself on
I know it seems like nowadays we are getting along better than we have ever before, but it's all lies. Right now, you are realizing or have already realized that I like you. And I am beginning to doubt that you have ever liked me. And so this game of the mind begins. Having once believed that I held the upper hand, I find myself on the other side of a turned table, and at the mercy of your whims. You are too kind, however, to subject me to them, thus leaving me in a state of checkmate; I know you have won, yet you are not making the final move to finish me off. You refuse to finish with the coup de grace. You think it's the right thing to do. And certainly, it is the easiest. But all you are succeeding in accomplishing now is the breaking of a fragile heart, and making sure that I will be reluctant to ever fall in love again.
I know it seems like nowadays we are getting closer than ever, but I know it's all a pretense.
I know it seems like nowadays we are getting closer than ever, but I know it's all a pretense.
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