We're sitting in the same kitchen where I showed you I could take whiskey shots without chasers, and three years later we're standing on the exact same tile floor and you're calling me beautiful, and you're introducing me to your friends with care. Your lips are pressed into the side of my face. That night three years ago was two days after I realized I liked you. I spent two and a half years trying to chase you. I gave up six months ago, I was just too fucking tired of playing this game. And here we are again, and you're kissing me while she watches and I don't like it. I'd rather flirt with your best friend.
It's funny how just a few short years can change the way you feel about all of the people you used to know. The whole process of them becoming "someone you used to know," without you even noticing is a bizarre ride. It's funny that a few years after graduation, when people are home to visit their parents, taking a minute long break from their new lives, you see all these strangers who used to be somebody to you. And you make small talk, with a beer in your hand as a security blanket. Keeping the prop so you can blame it on being drunk if the conversation derails the next time you meet them along the road. And it's funny that when those somebodies become people you don't know, how little their thoughts about you seem to matter. How little the opinion of someone you cared to impress means to you anymore. And you swallow down the moment in a last awkward gulp of your beer and then you take your opportunity to bail, "I need a refill."
To the boy who sits in front of me in history.
You've become a beautiful mystery to me. Whether I'll ever get to know you past the date of our final, I do not know. But for these fleeting moments, I appreciate the things you have to say.
I like that you give no fucks about saying exactly what you think.
I like that you let it all come from the heart.
I like that when I see your big brown eyes, they don't make me sad.
I like that all of the things that stand out about you are not just because they're a mirror image of the last person I loved.
Maybe one day, I'll bump into you and say something smooth. Or maybe I won't.
But until the last time we both walk out of our history room, I promise to appreciate the moments we share.
the girl who sits behind you.
I can feel the burning in my throat,
like those first sips of vodka I tasted at thirteen.
And I want to scream because you can be so fucking bitter–
When when you’re feeling low, you go down like vinegar.
But it’s also true that your words can suck every drop of life’s venom out of me.
And I can’t even drink vodka any more because when I tried to make it do the same it made me sick.
It burned my throat and my stomach the way you’ve been known to do–
But vodka doesn’t apologize.
Now I drink whiskey instead, another thing I learned from you.
I so loved being the little girl, only sixteen, that could throw back the whiskey and not need a chaser.
You thought it was cute, and I watched a drunk grin spread across your face the first time you saw me not flinch.
But what bothers me the most, is that even though I’ve never had to chase my whiskey, I can’t stop chasing you.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Just friends. We have to be, "just friends." Why her? Why her? Why her? I have to remind myself that we're just friends.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I think I love you. I probably love you. I don't know what to do.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That's probably all you do with her. I wish I was lying when I said I don't think that the girl you're in love loves you back.
Honey. Sweetie. Love of mine. In less than six months you might have to open up your eyes. You're drunk on her poison and she's teetering on the top. Maybe someday you'll realize that she's not even trying to balance. She's sitting there idly, letting you hold her up on the pedestal she doesn't deserve.
She should be ashamed. Why aren't you ashamed? I am so ashamed.
I love you, even if we're only ever "just friends."
I'm the only person I know that has cried over getting asked to prom. I am just so insecure, that I can't even accept that someone might want to go to prom with me. It's insane actually, and I can recognize that. But I still feel stupid. Honestly, why do I have to be this way. Why do I hate myself so much that I can't even bear the idea of anyone else liking me. So much for being the typical American teenager. I mean I've never wanted to be typical, but this confirms it totally.
Why am I like this? I don't know.
Why is this so hard for me? I don't know.
Why do I hate myself? Because I hate the qualities that I can see in myself. I hate that other people can see things that I don't believe exist. I hate that all of this bullshit is what's controlling me.
I've never been normal, but I guess that's just the worst part. I'd never recognize normal even if it was right under my nose.
It's so selfish hating yourself. Because even if you're hating yourself, you're still only thinking of yourself.
I want to be strong. I want to be heroic. And I want to be beautiful.
I'm strong in the sense that I can lift things, or some things at least. But I'm not strong emotionally, I fall apart if even one little piece chips away.
I am simply not heroic. Maybe that will change, because maybe after sixteen more years have passed, and I've gained a little bit more experience being human, I'll have done something that I can call heroic.
I want to be beautiful. I don't feel ugly, I just feel average. My skin breaks out, and my body shape is pretty normal. It's only when I style my hair and paint my face like a beautiful picture that I really feel beautiful.
I want to be just a better version of the person I am today.
I was contemplating not finishing high school, just testing out and never looking back. But I have decided that I'm going to finish it out. I'll survive the torture that is these terrible years because I have to pay my dues. I have to do what I have to do. I want to graduate alongside the handful of amazing people that have made the last 5 years of my life worth all of the pain. I also want to prove that the people that have made the last 5 years hell on Earth for the rest of us, are no better than I am. I want to prove that despite their bullshit, I am here to stay. I will make it through this. I can't give up now. I have to do this. I have to prove myself, not for anyone else, but for myself. I have to find closure and show myself that the horrible high school antics haven't killed me. I have to prove this to my self. I have to. I simply must.
You're a mystery to me. You're quiet. I don't know if it's just when you're around me, or only when alcohol is easing you're nerves. I don't know who you are, but I know that I want to find out. You're this magical mystery. A book waiting to be opened. I want to read every page and try to understand and then re read your story again. I'd search for my name and see if I'm anywhere in those pages. I'd look for what you've done, and what's made you the person you are. I'd look for your passion and your pains. I'd look for anything and everything that would bring me closer to you. It's almost crazy how much I want to read your story. How much I want to be around you. How much I want to learn from you. I just want that chance. So whether it's the comforting caress of alcohol, or if you're simply just shy, I wish I could make you open up. I wish I could see the "you" that's in there under your oh so smooth and entrancing exterior.
Today I felt fortunate. The odds seemed in my favor for the first time in a while, it was refreshing. However, there's this daunting sense that tomorrow is going to smack me in the face because today was just too simple. Fortune cookies should come with a clause, "good fortune tomorrow, but bad luck to follow soon after." Maybe I'm just too cynical. Maybe I should try to be more optimistic. Or maybe I should stop pretending that I am, and accept that I'm just a little pessimistic about things. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the good things in life, and I take those moments when they're up for grabs. But it's like catching the boquet at a wedding, the person who catches it is handed a "fate" that they don't necessarily want and everyone else just continues on unnoticed. Excuse the odd metaphor, but I hope you understand what I'm trying to say. I'd like to be optimistic, and see the good fortune coming before it's here, but it's just not that simple for me.
I'm afraid of leaving home. I'm afraid of moving out. I'm afraid of leaving anything behind. I'm almost done with high school, but I can't wrap my head around not being a teenager. It's a scary, this thing we call life. But what has made me like this? Why am I afraid to live? I'm not unhappy, I'm not afraid of the present. I'm afraid of the future. I'm afraid of the person that I could become. I look at my parents. One is an outstanding roll model and the other is everything I don't want to be. But I'm afraid that years from now I'll be the second. I'll be completely dependent on something that makes me sick, crazy or both. I'll be someone that no one can rely on. I'll tell lies that only I believe. What a sad fate would that be. I dont know that it's my fate, but I know I hope it's not. But it's the only fate I have a picture of because it scares me so much that I can't not think about it.
Sometimes I wonder how when you're in a crowded room, you can feel utterly alone. Lost without the few people that make you comfortable in a space. Maybe that's just a side effect of introversion, but I can't help but feel like I'm slipping out of my seat into some abyss while everyone else is going on with their conversations, like nothing is happening. It's almost sad really. But then I get my headphones and my notebook and suddenly I'm okay again, I can pretend that I'm alone without other people watching me. Or some times I'm with my friends, and I can talk and have a good time and be "normal". Whatever that is anyways. But I don't know. Is it just me? Or do other people feel that way? It can't be just me. Being unique can't be as absolute as we make it out to be, can it?