foshizzlebeth

foshizzlebeth

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She felt like she was starving for human contact, although she was constantly surrounded by people. She needed something physical to remind her that she still existed. She needed human touch to prove that she was still there. Otherwise, how could she say she was real?

She sat quietly and amused herself while the time slowly ticked by. Then, at just the right moment, she opened the door just as he opened his. He smiled "It's so funny how we manage to do that at the same time every day." She nodded in mock agreement "I know! We might as well walk together, then."

It was amusing how little he actually cared for her. Despite what she thought or how she imagined it might be, he knew that he was using her and he did not care at all. And the best part was that she would never know.

She felt frazzled by the sudden change of events. That's what her mother would call it anyway. Frazzled. She, herself, felt that a more appropriate description of her current emotional state would be "scared shitless."

The wilderness had never interested him until he met Chris. Then-more from necessity and a desperate attempt to cling to him more than any other reason- the wilderness became VERY interesting to him.

He looked at her, laughing and spanning in her bare feet. It reminded him of back before everything got complicated. Back when everything was fine and he loved her more than anything, Back when nothing could hurt them. But things had changed. And that, he reasoned, was the great tragedy of life.

The issue was that she was so fucking joyful about it. She didn't want help or for anyone to swoop in and fix the situation, she just wanted to smile and brush it off like it was all okay. It wasn't though, it was horrible and that bothered me. Because it wasn't technically MY problem, though, I could do nothing to fix it without her wanting me to. So I let her sit there, content and secure in her mess of a life, while I sat in silence.

buyer

Try selling me to the highest bidder. Sell me for the best price. Sell me and send me off and never look back and, If you can do that, ask yourself if I was ever yours to sell to begin with.

If I had known about her beforehand, I would never have gone to that damned party. Then we never would have met and I wouldn't feel like shit and I wouldn't be going to a funeral on the first day of summer break. But then I also would never have known. I'd still be boring me. Nothing special. At any rate, James says its better to know. To have loved and lost and all that shit. I'm still not sure it was worth all this fucking pain. (wow sorry for all of the swearing... I'm working on a thing and it just felt right in this scenario.)

Her thoughts swirled relentlessly like the wind, following no particular shape or rhythm. That was the difference between the two of us. Mine were simple, easy to follow geometric patterns. There I'd be, following my daily routine when she'd show up, grab my hand, and whisper "let's do something" in my ear before sweeping me up like a hellish tornado and landing me in the worst kinds of trouble. I both loved and hated it with all of my being. Nearly as passionately as I felt about her.

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writing since 2013 · 32 entries · 29 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Foshizzlebeth showed up.

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on this day 13 years ago

Foshizzlebeth wrote about flee
“She turned on her heel to flee from him, crashing through the underbrush and tripping over roots that blocked her way. She heard no signs of pursuit, so it was quite a surprise to her when she came c…”

the words Foshizzlebeth reaches for

stophandsvisitwalksclaspedrosieherselfmotherabledailyhorriblesitbehindsatfigurebest