kennarhea
We were meant to meet each other. It must have been made certain in a previous life. The way you get my humor, the way i can trust you, and i'd take a bullet for any of you. These people are more than my best friends. These people are my reason for life, and I don't know how I lived without them. I was destined to meet them.
One minute, I was standing on the edge. On the roof. Looking over the city I'd lived in since I was playing hopscotch with my friends and when the world's faults were things I was too little to notice. When I had friends. And then, I slipped. Or did I jump? Is there a difference? The world wanted me gone, I wanted the world to be gone. Then I was in mid air, my limbs flailing as I hurtled toward the pavement. I closed my eyes. And let the peace, the bliss, the beauty, of death overcome me.
I want so badly. To tell you. How much I love him. He's my everything. But you'd never listen. The words "there's this boy." would set you off. But why? you know him. You like him. I know I'm young, But I love him so much. It's the story, the boy and the girl who were best friends. They fell in love. I've known him for three years. If you'd only let me speak.
Do the chores. Do homework. Be a good girlfriend. Be a good friend. Practice for band. Practice for drumline. Memorize your music. Work on your marching. Go to the gym. Find a good college. Get to bed on time. Go to church. Stop drinking so much coffee. Eat healthier. Read your scriptures. Make some time to hang out with friends. Spend time with family. So much responsibility. But we make it day to day with a smile on our face and a skip in our step.
Music is more than a sound. Music is every expression ever felt by anyone anywhere, singing you to sleep, and making you think of the things, the people, who make you happy. Such simple sounds, layered with beautiful lyrics, that what you are to me. Music. Not sound.
I must get good grades. I must go to church. I must follow rules. I must get in shape. I must practice my instrument. I must clean my room. I must do what I'm told, and forget what I feel is right.
Or do I?
He was playing a game. She waited for him to return, to love her, to remember and appreciate her. And he did. But he was playing a game. He didn't love her, but she thought he did. She was caught up in his game, a never ending chain of heartbreak.
writing since 2012 · 11 entries · 11 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Classy showed up.
1longest streak
11days written
0.2entries / week
the words Classy reaches for
lovemusicfriendssecretsbestplayinggamepracticefaultsoverduemissholdingduepaperreturnchurch