She smiled in a big way...

now I've called olly olly olly olly oxen free

2009-08-15T21:49:00.000-07:00

So, I had a blog on myspace. And I updated it every couple days. I started it towards the beginning of summer, and I just reread it, and it's pathetic. Some of it is just so damn whiny and sad, BUT some of it is some of the best writing I've done. So I'm going to put what I want to keep on here, and delete the rest. What I keep is being kept because it's real. Not because it's "good writing" in novel-terms, but in emotional terms. This is becoming the box that you keep under your bed, in which you put old movie ticket stubs and love notes and photographs. Except I'm adding my words.

7/19
For once, could someone please be an exception? Everyone in this town is predictable. Everyone in this town does what is expected of them, what everyone else wants. It's like each person I know has a role, and they feel the need to follow the script exactly. I don't want someone to act like everything is perfect and run away when they're scared or unsure. I want someone to rip me apart and spell out my flaws with big neon lights, and then patch me up and kiss my chin. Don't question your heart, follow it. If there is any doubt in your mind, or any part of you that wants something, go for it. All you need to worry about, is how you feel. Not what your ex will think. Not what your friends will think. Not if you "want" it or not. The human mind is a great thing, but sometimes people are too stupid to realize they shouldn't always listen to logic.

6/18
one let down after another, when it comes to you
and with that, i'm done
~~now or~~ never

6/12
I'm going to keep you in my mind, as you are right now, as you were two years ago, as you were on October 1st, 2006. I love every inch of your soul. You fill me up, and I feel home when in your presence. There will always be a big room in my heart that is yours. And in that room, will be the couch from your bedroom, the jeans I was wearing when we first kissed, the letter you wrote me on Valentines Day (Even though I ripped it up...I still remember what it said), and other various memories. And you, you are stuck in there. Try as you may, you're not getting out.

6/3
i think it's pathetic how when i make mix cd's, i make sure i put on music that you would like to hear
and how whenever my phone vibrates, my heart skips a beat because i hope it's you
and how no matter how much i tell myself i'm done, i know i'm not
and how i'm always available to you
and how i'm scared that you're going to say no and i'm going to move on and then in a few months you're going to call and say you want me back, because i know i'd give in
and finally, how much i over-analyze, while you're probably sitting at home not thinking anything of this

i'm going through my clothes, making a pile for those that i don't wear / no longer fit. and right beside that pile, you will find a pair of AE artist jeans, size 4 regular, with frayed ends and a cut on the bottom inside of each leg. they're beside the pile, and not in it, because although they don't ft very well anymore, i can't bear to rid my closet of them. so i will hang them back up, along with the jeans that i do wear; to be looked at, and touched, and remembered. like a photograph, only more real.

6/2
Last was good. I mean, it was really good. I had the best time with Darian, Perry, and Brittany.
I've missed Darian so much, and no matter how long we go without talking or hanging out, when we do, we pick up right where we left off. I haven't been to her house in months, but I felt completely comfortable walking right in, without knocking of course. After talking to her parents, I went up to her room and it was just like it always was. We got ready for graduation together, and told each other secrets, and it was really good. She was my first best friend, besides Cameron, and I think she always will be.
Graduation itself was great. The speakers were...entertaining. It's so weird thinking that will be me next year; that will be us. I don't feel like a senior. I don't look like a senior. Maybe it's just because I've grown up with these people, I've known them (more or less) since we wore Velcro shoes, I can't see them as seniors. You will all be 8 year olds to me forever, chasing each other on the playground and serving caution slips. I will always picture you as 11 year olds, playing swing tag and flirting with the flavor of the week. 13 year olds, graduating from South Vienna, crying because it was Shelby's last year with us. 14 year olds, wide-eyed and nervous for high school. And now 16, 17, 18- partying, laughing, confiding, fighting, so ready to get out of this small town. I can't picture us as anything but forever young.
I poured my heart out onto four sheets of $.99 notebook paper, and part of my heart left me when I folded them and gently kissed the crease. Those four sheets are covered with words of young innocence, stolen kisses, selfish arguments, and broken hearts. I feel relieved, like writing everything down and passing it on made it better. But I know it's not better, and I know it will never fully be fixed- I will never fully be fixed of this. Those four sheets of paper are gone, they're now Brett's property. And what he makes of it, is completely up to him. All I know is he is the first boy I kissed, the first boy I loved, and I have been forever changed by him.
This year has been life changing. I've met so many new, wonderful people. I feel like I'm a lot better off in most ways than I was at the beginning of the year. I've come out of my shell so much. To the girls in my lab, I know I'm loud and annoying, but you all have taught me so much more than just health knowledge, and I love you all.
But at the same time, I deeply miss Northeastern. I miss walking down the halls and knowing everyone (relatively speaking, that is). I wish I were with the people I'll be graduating with next year. I really regret losing touch with so many people. Seriously, everyone, lets hang out this summer. Ask me for my number if you don't have it, and don't hesitate to call me. I want to hang out with all of you.
There are a lot of things I miss. A lot. As much as I say I'm done dwelling on the past, I know that's not true. It's simply not possible. I have experienced so much in the past 11 years, and to not think about it is just unrealistic. I love talking about memories, the past, the "good ol' days". I love nostalgia, as melancholy as it can be.

Reading through all of this stuff is like listening to a mix cd. There are highs and lows and all of it, I want to remember. I want to remember the way it felt to find my best friend again. I want to remember how it felt to be back with my first romance, and then to have it all fall apart again. I feel absolutely invincible right now, and with senior year just around the corner, I hope it never changes.

Why can't I feel anything from anyone other than you?

2009-08-11T13:46:00.000-07:00

---

wishful thinking / sure thing
sure thing / wishful thinking
wishful thinking / sure thing
sure thing / wishful thinking

because i
want to be
where you are

the references you make to things only i understand
the loud, booming laughter that fills the air
firecrackers, orchestrating every moment
a grand finale of sorts

because i
(wishful thinking)
want to be
(sure thing)
where you are

---

Make the most of living

2009-08-03T15:07:00.000-07:00

while you're young and have the chance to take your chances

I'm balling up my fist and biting my tongue and clenching my teeth and squeezing my eyes shut. I'm doing everything I can to keep from lashing out.

---

I'll hold my breath till I turn blue, if it's what it takes,
I'll turn this car right around and go straight to where it all began.
Your promises are just excuses
"can we do this later?"
No, we can't.
My shadow and I are getting bored.

---

Dancing around the situation, playing chicken with the flame;
you'll dip your toe in, but won't take the plunge.
And I'm the cold water you're too afraid to test.

---

With my knees locked and my stomach churning, I look you in the eye. Once for confidence, twice for good measure. My tongue's dancing behind my lips, searching for the words.

---

It's in every blade of this bright green grass. In every ray of sunlight, I'm basking in you. You rush over me, slowly at first, like a warm spring rain. And suddenly, it stops. All is hushed- the calm before the storm.

I wish I would post these things when I write them, rather than weeks or months later. I look back at old posts, and remember why I wrote something, and get confused: ("That wasn't happening in April...?") I always write these in my notebook, then just post them on here whenever I get around to it. Too unorganized for my liking, but whatever.

Jealous hearts will leave us all in ruins

2009-07-10T14:11:00.000-07:00

Our silence isn't comfortable
I feel the need to blurt out something,
anything.
To impress you? To entertain you?
I know not why.
But I do know that I don't like it.
Not one bit.

---

You are my very own area 51.
Absolutely off-limits,
a foreign land to me.
But like they say,
the forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

---

A quick not in acknowledgement, a second glance if I'm feeling kind.
You're just someone I used to know.

Driving on the ways of the high and free

2009-06-06T13:41:00.000-07:00

"keep breathing, my angel, if you go down I go with you
keep breathing, just keep breathing"

I love those lyrics. Mayday Parade has a special way of making each of their songs, everyone else's song also. I think that's what I look for most in music. Sure, I love a good beat. I love a song that can make me "do the Helen Keller and talk with [my] hips." There are some songs that have absolutely no meaning to me, but sure are fun to turn up loudly with the windows down. But what captures me most about music is the lyrics. If I can relate to a song, I'm hooked. Even if I can't relate, but the writer does such a good job that I feel like I can relate, then it's golden. Bjork said, "It's my job to be emotional. Doctors cure diseases and shoemakers make shoes. It's my job to go through emotions and describe them to other people." Aside from the fact that she is an amazing singer, I think she's dead on with that. I'm addicted to the lyrics that draw me in and spill my heart.

Let's play oblivious
as we dance around the big, gray elephant in the room.
Pay no mind
when your elbow bumps its leg,
when its tusk pokes your side.
If you pretend it's not there,
then it's not.
...right?
If you pretend I'm not there,
then I'm not.
...right?

---

Hey you, with the swollen heart, don't you know when to stop? You wore your heart on your sleeve, you let every thought in that pretty little head roll right out of your mouth; don't you know when to stop? Stitch up the past, sweep it into the darkest corner of your closet, only to be returned to on the gloomiest of days when nostalgia seems just right. Quiet your weeping, ocean eyes, sleep will come soon.

So hello, good friend, I wanna be next to you

2009-04-27T13:33:00.000-07:00

A warm breeze ruffles her hair, a subtle reminder of what should be, but isn't.
A mocking whisper in her ear, "I told you so..."

---

I'll pick apart every word you say,
every move you make.
I'll try to open the door to your mind. And if it's locked,
I'll slither between the door and the floor
and I'll figure you out.

Hoping for the best, just hoping nothing happens

2009-03-03T09:59:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to think the birds have the right idea-
fly away when things aren't how you want them

---

The words are a hurricane, spinning and blowing and whirling out of control. Yet, some of them are so calm and serene, like a warm summer's rain- the kind where you reach for your umbrella, then realize it sounds so much better to get a little wet than to ruin the natural way of things.

2009-02-08T10:18:00.000-08:00

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
You are the air I breathe.
Lavender and vanilla are no comparison
to the coffee and cigarettes on your breath,
the soap on your skin.
Intoxicating, my darling,
I lose myself in you.

2008-12-14T09:39:00.000-08:00

La la la de da, he's humming in her ear. With one hand holding one of hers, and the other in the small of her back, he spins her 'round and 'round. Dancing to the melody of their own music, their own heartbeats.

---

Things just don't feel right anymore. With anything. A strong sense of nostalgia is coming over me, and I'm starting to miss the way things once were. I miss so many things. I feel like my life is one of those pretty little displays in the windows of stores; and I'm just window shopping, walking along the sidewalk. I don't know who I am. I don't know my favorite color. I don't know what my "style" is. I don't know what kind of music I like. I don't know my opinion on anything. I feel like I've been so influenced by so many people that I don't know myself. I don't even have a "self." I don't know. I'm not making any sense.

2008-12-07T19:22:00.000-08:00

They met, fell in love, and saw each other for the last time, all on the same day- a sunny, brisk, October afternoon. She woke up that morning, knowing it would be an exceptionally good day. He woke up, wanting it to be his last.
After breakfast, she headed out to the grocery store. At the same time, he was starting his morning run. She walked down the sidewalk humming along to a song only she heard, while his heart was breaking with every stride he took. As she was walking, she passed the local coffee shop, and something drew her in. She knew she had to get to the store, but oh, what the hell, a mocha latte was calling her name. She sat down with her drink and opened up her book. Just as she was getting up to leave, the bell on the door rang, signaling someone's entrance. Looking up, she saw a beautiful, distressed face. He walked to the counter, accidentally knocking her book off the table (secretly, it was on purpose- he thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, and was desperate to talk to her). They both knelt over to pick it up, he beat her to it. They laughed, and she invited him to sit with her.
They began talking, and the late morning turned to afternoon, with them still sitting in the coffee shop. They talked about everything. Books, their childhoods, songs that they knew every word to, what they thought about the world...everything. They came to know each other in a way that most married couples have never, and will never experience. While they didn't know each others' names, they could list the other's favorite color, childhood pet's name, and where they had their first kiss. She knew he got the scar just below his left ear from falling off the monkey bars in 2nd grade, and that a girl named Sarah in his class helped him to the Nurse's office. He knew that she fell victim to her first heartbreak in 8th grade, when she was hopelessly in love (or what was thought to be love in those years) with Evan Whiteport and he went to the movies with Jenny Mcduff.
Like I said, the came to know each other well. After their coffees were long gone, they sat at the table, discussing their secret longings and wishes. And in between the laughs and sympathetic silences, they fell in love. I'm not talking love at first sight- no, it was much more than this. They fell more in love with each other with every embarrassing story, every smile, every tear.
She looked at her watch, and knew that she had to go. As much as she wanted to stay and learn more about this b she had to leave. He was sad, but understood. She told him what a wonderful time she had. With a quick, but perfectly long enough kiss on the forehead, he said goodbye. He watched her walk away, knowing he would never see her again. He had no way of knowing how to get a hold of the girl who had saved his life, but that was ok. He was happy; she had given him a happiness he'd been looking for, for months.
She'll never know that in every girl he meets, he looks for traces of her. Anything to remind him of her. But at the same he'll never know that she sleeps with that book, the one he knocked off her table, by her bedside every night.

I don't know how I feel about that one. It doesn't seem right. Unfinished, or something. I don't know. I think it's too long. sifsjfoesf. Oh well. Tell me what you think.

Wandering Aimlessly

2008-12-05T21:51:00.000-08:00

While she sits, deep in thought, he counts the freckles on her face. 1... 2... 3... they trickle across her cheek, over the bridge of her pretty little nose, and onto the other cheek. She looks up, and catches him staring. She smiles and looks away, a rosy blush crawling across her face. He always loved that smile, and even more so, the fact that he could be the cause of it. He loves to watch her think. The frustrated, curious look that is invariably there. If he could, he would gently kiss every one of her long eye lashes

He sees her sitting on a park bench, doodling away in her journal. Her quiet, lovely voice is subconsciously singing her thoughts aloud. He secretly wishes that same voice would sing him to sleep; his very own lullaby.

I'm quite illiterate when it comes to this whole "blog" thing. You wouldn't believe the trouble I had coming up with my URL, and, um, I don't remember what the other stuff is called. I didn't know what anything was so I just kinda took a chance with it all. I don't think I'm going to put my name on here, ever. I think it adds a nice mystery to it. I like that. So basically, what I plan to do with this thing is... I don't know. What I wrote above was something that just came to my head. I'll do that often. Whether it's a little story thing like that, or lyrics / quotes (I'll obviously put who they're by, just in case they hit "that spot" in your heart, like they do me), or just whatever I'm thinking. I think a lot. Okay, well, I'm going to mess around with this thing, see what I can find. Don't be afraid to give me some advice. About my writing (as you can see, I'm not very good), or about this blog stuff. Thanks :)