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I don't really miss you anymore, but I miss who I was then.
I miss summer.
I miss school.
I miss the time I had free.
I miss the way your eyes followed me like I was worth everything,
And I miss the way I could trust so firmly.
You can't go back, and I rarely want to, but I wish I could feel it once more.
I think I'll let myself get soaked.
Why do we hide when it rains?
It's just water.
Back when I loved you,
Why did you run away?
It was only love.
Yes, I think I'll stay out a while
And enjoy the rain.
Fell in love? More like tripped.
I was not the dreamy kind of girl. I was recovering from a too long dysfunctional relationship.
And then you catapulted me into liking you. Your smile. Your eyes. Your love of science fiction and classic rock.
I'm not exactly annoyed, but I am confused. How do I like you so much already?
Sometimes, when everyone is asleep, and the world seems to have calmed down for a moment, I feel like the entire universe consists only of my little room. Arrogant, I know. This feeling is usually good, but also frequently unbearable. Despite this, I often find myself wondering, if I never go to sleep, will morning still come? Would the sun still rise? Would I once again find myself wishing I had the power to pause everything so I could go back to sleep without losing precious being time? Or maybe, just maybe, would not the earth beneath my feet slow to a halt and take a break from its busy life spent hurtling through space at a truly incredible speed? I digress. So I turn on a Hank Williams album and pretend that this obsession does not make me a country music fan while I wait for sleep to reach into my brain and shush it. I would tell you that it listens, but then I would have even less than the flimsy excuse for my nonsensical dream I have now. In the end, I am a terribly normal strange creature with delusions of grandeur who is in denial about where I stand on country music. And that is tiring.
I am a creature of habit.
I tend to make the same mistakes. I tend to fall into old routines. I tend to be socially inept because of habit, not because of a lack of understanding.
I tend to dream. I tend to make plans. I tend to want a lot and get only a little.
I want to be a free creature, but I am slave to my habits.
His features are carved in stone. Mine are made of play-doh.
Why would he be interested in me?
When he smiles, it's a little bit difficult to breathe. I always thought that was founded in hyperbole and myth.
I have been so guarded these past few years. I got my heart broken by my best friend of half my life. And I thought I'd never get past it. And then he shows up.
It still hurts, but not nearly as bad as it used to. And I smile at the thought of him.
I like him. How terrifying.
Some people have called me musical.
I play ukulele and guitar. Plus a little bit of piano. I have performed at various restaurants, music festivals, and grand openings for the last 5 years or so. I have written 136 songs. I have won talent shows. Everyone and their grandma say I should go on American Idol. I don't want that. I just want to play music, even if I'm just busking.
But none of this compares to the way he says my name.
We're only visiting.
That's sort of how I feel about man's short life on this planet. But I don't believe in weird beyonds. I only believe in right now.
And this is too short to be more than a visit.
It is typical procedure to grow up.
Turn 18. Get a job. Move out. Move on. Be mature. Pay your bills on time. Get married. have kids. Be satisfied and not at all scared.
Time is moving fast than I expected.
I was never the child who talked about how much they wanted to be grown up. I did not pretend to be twenty. I have never said "I can't wait to move out."
Now that the time is fast approaching, I am scared and surprised.
But I have you. And we shall be excellent. We shall be, quite simply, the very best there ever was. You are my best friend.
I can do this. We can do this.
I can't wait to move out.
Any need for drama I might have is well sated by television and books and movies.
I don't need real-world horrors. And I don't want it.
I am too full for fear.
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writing since 2012 · 23 entries · 18 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Me showed up.
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