ginnyweasley
It was like walking on stilts, being around him. He had this way of making me feel so elated and high, if I could even use a word like that considering I'd never actually been high in my life, like everything was great and everything was funny because everything he said usually was. But that's not what relationships are based off of, because as soon as we slip up we come crashing down hard, harder than we would if we were just on level ground, and I guess that's why we didn't work out after all. I'm still not sure if I'm sorry about it.
"Fear my wrath," he had said when we were six, when we probably didn't know what "wrath" meant or at least had heard of the Grapes of Wrath from our older sisters in high school who always complained about English class, and maybe that was weird that our families were so spread out like that, but it made joint dinners fun, even when you spit nonsense and made messes at the table.
Bagels are only good in New York, he always tells me. But unfortunately, we are not in New York, nor will we ever be in New York, unless his "let's go get an apartment after high school and both go to NYU or something" plan actually works. Which it probably won't. He knows I hates crowds. He knows I hate the city. Maybe one day he'll stop talking about bagels at lunch and start talking about something else.
i smudged his watercolor painting one day, because it was too perfect. that's the reason i gave, anyway, but i guess it wasn't that. i guess i was just sick of him always focusing so much attention on that painting but never to me. i would sing as loudly as possible to his moody indie music but it wouldn't do any good. he had found his passion, and i was yet to find mine.
It wasn't something that they could catch like the plague, I told them. It was fine to get near me, although I couldn't promise that I wouldn't yell at them to go away if they imposed on me too much. My pride didn't fall away just because I was screaming alone in my bedroom, which they didn't seem to understand. I guess I don't understand it either.
Logan is quite the chef, but he doesn't understand anything about nutrition, really. He can't give me lectures about the grains group or the dairy group, or my intake of fiber per day. He just likes putting food in a pot and watching it cook. He likes watching my face as I take the first bite. I guess that's good enough.
the tornado didn't come as a shock to anybody. with smart phones and alerts we all knew to get in the basement relatively quickly, but the aftermath sure came as a shock, as we saw the neighbors' belongings strewn around the street. my mother said that possessions aren't really anything to be upset over, and you're weak if you invest emotional values into an object. i don't believe that.
They say I am destined for greatness, but I'm not so sure. What has them so convinced, anyway? They tell me that i can keep going on that roads to greatness if i can just accept that there's no such thing as social anxiety, and that there's n o such thing as panic disorder, whatever that could possibly be. i just need to stop crying and get over it. i don't have a right to be upset. what do i have to possibly be so sad over? i think they just like to tell me shit and see how much they can get away with.
He referred to them as "calamities," probably to make me feel better about how frequent they were. calling them "panic attacks" wasn't going to do me any good and i think it scared him a bit to know just how much i could wreck myself. but we both decided that popping pills is not attractive, and people who brag about it and use it as quirks for their characters or for themselves need to get a hold of something more solid.
he accused me of not listening to him, but i was. it was just that his words weren't ringing true to me, and they were falling flat, and they were sinking to the ground, dense with unimportance. he doesn't understand what's important to me and what i can cast aside, which is a terrible flaw to have, since all he wants to do is talk talk talk to me and hope that i listen to every single damn word that flows from his mouth. but tomorrow i will tell him that i am not going to do that anymore and he can find somebody else to listen to his crap because i have better words to listen to.
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