dog-eared

I like crushing book spines and wrinkling pages.

I like highlighting and doodling in margins.

(Power in destruction)

(False knowledge)

Yum.

bumblebees

A buzz, a buzz, a small short buzz—I lost the shirt you gave me, and I'm sadder than I thought.
I thought I would have more to say, as a girl in a plaid vest and sunglasses, when the weather calls for a much less tragic clash of clothes. If I could write without inhibition I would, but even so, writing calls for carefully placed letters and words, that terrify me—who's reading? I check often, and you're never there. A few small numbers, you're never there.

But what is to be expected? You don't fall out of love with someone within a week. Well, some people do. But I am not one of them. I slept early last night, around 9pm—the earliest I've slept since I was ten years old, and I woke up at 11pm with a frightening jolt. You had crept into my head again, stealing happiness away like a magician. I thought of you, and how you ___ and how you ____ and how you ____, and couldn't stop smiling/laughing/crying; sometimes I forget about you, and that almost scares me more than remembering you.

I am slowly picking up pieces (could I have used anymore hackneyed of a metaphor?) of what we once were, and seeing how broken they had been in the first place. I'm remembering every small grimace, and scoff, and frown you'd cast me, and then, all over again, feel that suffocating, heavy remorse that I always felt when I decided to let you back into my life.

The voices I heard tonight were meaningless and empty, despite curious questions and lingering eyes, I still miss the way you looked at me, although it may have been just as vacant as theirs. I still miss it, but am trying to miss it less and less. I've been writing songs about you "letting me set myself free" but it's really not about that. You never held me long enough for me to fight, I had always willingly wrapped my arms around you and held onto you in fear of being alone. Love...

I love(d) you.

two twenty-one

Sitting in the basement in stifling silence. Midterm tomorrow, which I'm not prepared for (yet have every reason to be). Resorting to pictures and children's stories to study—I was foolish to think Sunday School prepared me for this one. Although everything is redundant and familiar, their condescending tones and smart-aleck answers keep ringing in my head, haunting me, and preventing me from actually studying the material. Dang.

The scars on my hand are healing. My back hurts, and I think I know why. Ridiculous. I went to Massage Envy today, and had a short Asian man give me a deep tissue massage; it was phenomenal! I recommend everyone go to a massage studio at one point in their life. Mhmm. I should put more lotion on my hands, and guitar is not a beautiful passion in the least...my fingertips are so, so callused.

Waiting for my camera to come back.
Blank brain.

footrest

I've grown accustomed to this sort of quiet—
The sporadic growl of a motorcycle,
The frightening scream of sirens,
City sounds in a suburban town.

Sipping coffee,
turning Pages,
falling in love with You,
I am content.

a very strange enchanted boy

Listening to songs with AMAZING lyrics, and unoriginal musicality, and happily proving you wrong.
Love Nat King Cole.
It feels abnormal to be this happy right now, but I am.
Hm. :)

degrees

Missed my morning class, thought it was going to be one of those
"woke up, and wished that i was dead" mornings,
but it wasn't and it isn't, and i'm looking forward to the sunshine.
If it rains this week I'm going to be very upset.