We grow fonder, and fonder.

I sometimes don't understand that, still.

January was a period of defrosting. On the first, I was still disappointed in my December failure to commit. On the nineteenth, I took a leap of faith. "I'm gay." One person in the room knew I was considering it, a person who quickly became my best friend. I started writing every day. I started doing my work again.

February. Pit orchestra started, as did what should have been a small infatuation with Italy. I learned to love the sound of a low Eb, a luxury not afforded by a regular Bb clarinet. Twice now I had proven my worth to an apprehensive director. I settled into a routine of dealing with an ocean of emotion every day. Cassidy started getting on my nerves. My writing was themed around love, a city I had never been to. It was mediocre to me. But I was comfortable. "You like what you see?" It was easy to answer.

March was when Italy took over. I became enamored with an unpopular voice. My range continued to grow in leaps and bounds. I should have started failing Chemistry then, but my connections kept me afloat. I considered Anything Goes. I wrote a very good letter. My other writing began falling by the wayside. "I don't know how to gracefully ask this, but." I was disappointed, to say the least. I'd gotten my hopes up. It wouldn't happen again.

April. Always a turning point. I maintained, still maintain, that Dennis made a dumb decision when he fell in love with Natalie. I rolled my eyes at the meaning behind his beautiful song, but by the time the show opened, I was watching him very carefully so I could avoid looking where I wanted. I couldn't bare to watch, for reasons I refused to acknowledge. I dismissed it. I got closer with my niche in the Kiwanis Club.

May. Dear Lord. I made a cryptic comment online, and an actress fooled me into thinking she didn't understand it. For four hours, I said those stupidly sweet and disgusting things one says only to her best friend, never to the girl being discussed. I whatevered a lot. First period was a home. Even the teacher had acknowledged what was probably the closest friendship in the room. I ditched an audition to walk around the school in a silly green dress. "I would kiss you." I declined. It was stupid to even think about. And it happened anyway. Seven, Eight, Nine, we counted, and after five minutes of the most comforting embrace I've ever felt, an impulsive act lit the fuse for an explosion to last a lifetime.

June. Precariously balanced, always trying to fall one way or the other. I fell in love, and upon realizing this, I cried my eyes out in the car of one of my favorite people. It was becoming a habit for us to drive around for hours, stop at Denny's, and then drive around for hours again. We passed the house on Laurel and Fifteenth, we passed the apartment near Harkness. My day went like this.

O: Ditch it, or sit in the gay corner and complain. Walk to first with two Js and Two Ss, pass my friend and have thoughts (wouldn't it be nice if).

1: Check in and find the dynamic for the day, learn from/ be smitten with Ms. Teacher for forty minutes, then promise a bracelet, talk about Mattie and Gatsby and the dead salesman. Write out dramatic apologies when it was bad, smile when it wasn't. Walk to the math buildings and then to Wind Ensemble.

2: Play my music and think about being somewhere else. I was still aware of the euphonium player behind me. Nutrition with Briss.

3: Walk to the gym, usually in silence, excused tardy. Sit and write stupid sappy things in 45, trying to convince myself I could get my writing back on track. Fail another test, think about next period.

4: Stand behind Italy, having forgotten about her except that she was flat. Watch the music, watch the director, watch my thoughts so they don't stray. Lunch in the rose garden.

5: Pretend to really care about a scene, pretend to want to do something other than sit and talk to my favorite fangirl. In a tacit understanding, hold hands to sixth period.

6: Go to McDonald's. Talk to the one person I don't dismiss myself with. Sit on the steps of the history building, pretend like I don't feel pathetic. Continue to write without trying to catch up.

I realize in hindsight that I didn't take the time to care about myself in June.

When the show opened, I spent much of my time curled up in the Deathly Hallows, or else talking to two wonderful people about All Things. And then I fell on the stairs and he said, "Because you aren't worth it." I didn't give in during that scene after that. I fell on the stairs again, earning myself matching scars on each wrist. I pretended I wasn't insecure about my other scars,  and I pulled away from one of the most important people in my life.

July. Cold. I cried a lot. I questioned my self-worth a lot. My writing dried up along with my appetite. I was a client and a burden, needy as fuck and too terrified to be clingy. I pulled away from just about everything. I felt angry all the time. One day, I realized what it meant to be heartbroken. And the next day, and the next. The only thing saving me was band and kindergarten. My show was everything I needed it to be. "To love something and to possess it are not the same thing." Fireworks went off every night. Despite the fact that I was in a church most of the time,  my faith was failing. I stopped sleeping so I could finish three semesters of work in the space of six weeks. Band was wonderful, my section was wonderful, being in the sun was wonderful, but the darkness was still there. I broke a girl's heart. I led her on and stretched the truth and in the space of two days I ruined her summer. I recognized for the first time that I am truly an awful person when I'm not on my guard.

August. I resigned myself to a long healing process. I felt empty a lot. I didn't eat enough or sleep enough, particularly when band camp started. A boy showed up on junior registration day and my afternoon was boiled in jealousy. I worried a lot about what would happen when school started. I worried that I was cursed to have a different best friend every year. More worrisome was the prospect of not having one at all. I got my ear pierced.

September. The football season was my saving grace. I settled into my lovely schedule. During sixth I went to get food almost every day with a girl who, try as she might, couldn't fill the gap. I'm not sure I wanted it filled. There were four of us who hung out with a stinky dog quite often, eating junk food and talking about movies. I introduced the X-files, they greeted me with smiles.

October. I stopped blushing in first period and got used to a constant, low level of worry. Band was breaking records, I was finding my way, it looked like things were about to work out, but something was out of place. Whatever, I thought. Whatever. I had shields up. But then a quick tiff about my rudeness broke some barrier, and things fell right back into place. I was cautious, yes, but not closed. Our rhythm recommenced. I relaxed. I relaxed enough to go to Homecoming, which. I mean. It was Homecoming. Olive Garden made up for it. I slept poorly that night. That is still a secret.  I started writing in first person. I decided to like myself again.

November. Very close to perfect. The season ended better than I could have ever imagined. I cried when the saxes played Cherry. We broke records. My computer started to fall apart. I got a new phone. A wall collapsed every day. I made a conscious decision to trust people, to have faith and just be a person. I know I'm resilient.

December. I got a new computer. I had a very relaxed celebration of my eighteenth. I still can't feel Christmas. Romantically, I am restless. I yearn for progress, for something to learn about life. But I'm very content. I've applied to two schools. I'm writing again.

1. Be more patient.
2. Eat three meals a day.
3. Write everything, always.
4. Avoid being hurt; Avoid being hurtful.
5. Kiss someone special.

Eighteen

I write out my numbers. Typical.
Saturday was the most relaxing day I've had in a very long time, and the most stress-free birthday I've had ever. As hard as I try, I cannot think of anything that could have made it better. I'm typing on my new laptop, Dexter. Despite the fact that my family just had a little blowup and my nearest and dearest friend is unhappy as can be, my eighteenth birthday will be something special I remember always. Even the moon couldn't ruin it.
I'm keeping a notebook. Daily. That is something I haven't done since sophomore year, and that was out of pure emotional need. Now, it's a choice I am glad to make. Needless to say, conclusions are far easier reached when one has taken notes.
I have a cake. I have a line in the sand that is washing away in the most beautiful way possible. I have two wonderful brothers who will share the stage with me this Wednesday for a night of lovely music. I have a dad that decided to come back into the house. I have Grey's Anatomy loaded on the tab next to this one. I have a cramp-free body and warm toes and lots of books to read and paper to fill and things to learn. I'm very content. My life is closer to perfect than it ever has been. I can't even begin to describe how glad I am to be alive.

The line in the sand has been reaffirmed.

For now I will look at pictures of snow and eat strawberries and revel in the cold and bitter, as I have been up until now. It is true sustenance. I’ve never known anything with better effects. I would endeavour to use that and the sound of an acoustic guitar to get me through the rest of the year. In that way, I am very self-sufficient. It’s wonderful. I’m good at it. I will have intellectual conversations with people I can learn from. I will have emotional conversations with people who encourage my heart to grow. I will experience dramas for the catharsis, absorb philosophies to think larger, taking in knowledge like sunlight and releasing nonsense for the benefit of those around me. I will single-handedly create a place in which I may thrive.

Swaying

I'd have never looked at the title on the list had I not received a recommendation to read it. An order, really. When I see the cover, which I am now doing my best to ignore, I falter a little. I look inside and see a digital sort of font and a smell reminiscent of a Junie B. Jones chapter book. My gaze moves from that book in my left hand, 6.99, to the thicker, darker book I hold in my right hand. The second book is 16.99. My mother walks over and asks me if I've found the one I want. I tell her I have and that I also found what was my original choice. I want both. She asks about the prices and I tell her, and immediately she begins attempting to convince me to choose the cheaper book, an attempt poorly hidden by a separate attempt to get me to think I made the 'right' decision on my own. The moment I open my mouth to call her on it, she simultaneously guilt-trips me (a last feeble attempt), dismisses what I was going to say (which included me calling her on her first three attempts), and sends me to parlay with my father. He will not let me get both books. He won't even ask about prices. He expects frugality of us all, and will lie and say nothing's wrong should I pick the more expensive book. So I go to look for him, feeling frazzled and pressured. After seven or eight minutes spent nervously walking around the science fiction section, where I saw him last, I hear my name from the end of the row I'm standing in, reading a book of poetry to calm down. I tell him the situation, and he tells me to pick one, and then he walks away. In his mind, it is a quick decision. In his mind, we can afford to go to Barnes and Noble more than once every year before school begins. In his mind, I'm walking behind him, already having made a choice and placed the deferred literature back on the shelf. I imagine he was irritated when he reached the front of the store and realized I wasn't with him. He will have waited a few minutes, during which time I cracked open each book to get a taste of what I was about to order. The lighter, cheaper book greets me with teenage diction, a character that immediately reminds me of myself, and a few sentences that make no sense in my head, though that is probably because at this point I'm trying to read one book, hold another and a list, and fix my hair (underneath a hood that had better keep its place on my head or so help me) all while maintaining perfect studious dignity because I own this bookstore, I'm a reader and a writer and a literature fanatic who happens to have about three minutes before she needs to run to the check-out line to save her ass and her evening. In short, I look like an absolute fool, but I'm reading so I don't care that much. I close the first book and open the second. It's an older gentleman speaking. He is slow and steady in my head, determined and a little impertinent, toward his children and boss at least. He begins to explain to me how people don't understand how time slips away, how one cannot say 'I am' before it becomes 'I was'. I shift my weight to my right hip, about let myself fall into the book, when my father appears at my elbow. "Are you ready?" he asks. For a moment, I say um, already losing the connection I had just begun to form with the novel, the provoked thoughts growing smaller and smaller in my mind. He has not realized my loss, nor will he until the next time I interrupt him while he's watching Star Trek. He starts composing a monologue on the subject of how he hates shopping and that every decision is simple and should be made quickly and efficiently, and I walk away into the next aisle. I should be in trouble for this. Perhaps I am; I'm highly uninformed in the way of his emotions at the moment. Instead of waiting for him to come lecture me, I look for where this book should be. For the life of me, I cannot find it. I hear him walk away,  or stomp rather, and I take a deep breath to collect myself. I find the spot where I found the book, and I take a second breath and a moment to mourn the ideas that could have filled my mind. The book finds its place on the shelf, and after one last glance, I shuffle toward the front of the store, still finding my balance with the slight limp I have somehow acquired in the last few weeks. I reach my father, and he calls my mother, and together they march ahead of me to the check-out desk, where the clerk gives me a warm smile. Perhaps he senses my sorrow. Perhaps he understands what it's like to lose a book, or to lose time, or to have to shuffle behind one's parents while they pay six dollars and ninety-nine cents in debit for their glorious triumph. I smile back at him, and our little parade leaves the store. I thank my father for holding the door and for buying my book, and I sit shivering in silence as my father drives home, listening to my mother cry about the apparently lost cause that is our family.

The big stupid smile?

Yeah. It's a thing. Hello Econ. You'll get the brunt of it tonight.
I live vicariously through my words. To a point. I do enjoy the conversations I can create, but if I'm really writing, the characters become themselves quickly, with ease. Which is a very good thing.

Things I've realized this summer
1. Water is precious.
2. Don't lock your knees.
3. Lists are very helpful.
4. Write while the words are in your mouth. Don't put it off, or you'll lose the story.
4 1/2. With that, keep a pad of paper and a pen under your pillow.
5. Many of O'Keefe's flowers don't look like flowers.
6. Baby, you're a firework.
7. I extra-hate 'baby'.
8. Honesty is the best policy.
9. I like having pictures of my family in my room.
10. All nighters suck ass.
11. Wishes are granted in ways we usually miss.
12. Serendipity is a wonderful thing.
13. All things come to an end.
14. True fear is true love.
15. Always remember questions that are difficult to answer.

Fred

But not actually. Mother, grandmother, not father, grandfather. I need a name. Eleanor maybe. 
I have gone through that first day in my head too many times. Every possible way it could happen, and it's sort of killing me. I need to focus on here. Now.  
Who's passing econ with flying colors? This girl. And though I'm not particularly proud, as there is very little mental effort involved, it is a large weight lifted off my shoulders. World History will give me things to write about and it will be wonderful to feel things strongly about the modern world. There are very few things I love more than essaying about something I can support with facts. I'm working on one about the Trail of Tears and the terribly admirable Andrew Jackson. 
I need to type a lot of things up. I need to gain back the simplicity of the March mindset and just write. If only I had the time. Way to go Econ, leeching away all my joys. I didn't even get one lousy episode of Grey's in today. And you know what I also missed, which I will blame you for even though you're a class with no direct effects on my rehearsal schedule? I missed the first carefully, cautiously, quietly line tonight, and when it came up later I was mad. Not really mad, just like. "Ugh, you line. Come back in my brain please."
I walked into the house at 11:12 this evening, and I find myself smiling. You Sir, are finding very odd ways of answering me. Thank you, very much. 
I love speaking slow. I love standing on that stage and not being told I need to jump around and exhibit my energy like a child in order to be good. I believe Ella Fitzgerald planted herself and just sang beautifully. Energy is not necessarily motion, and motion should not imply energy. I am an old woman, in more ways than one, and so I fully intend to stand still and speak. I'm told, nightly, the effect is quite powerful. And to be frank, I am very proud of that. 
It's just so relevant, isn't it? 
Sometimes I think of Severus. Sometimes I think of Dennis. And sometimes, I think that I will end up as myself, no matter what happens today, or tomorrow, next week, next year, the next eighty years (here's to hoping I live that long) and upon death. Me. It's already too late to try and fit Someone Else, nor do I have any desire to do so. And in my consistently unstable mind, I find that to be a staggeringly beautiful thing.

Sunflowers tend toward the sun.

And I believe that would be my reason. Because on a sad day, a sunflower is a sun itself, if only it looks up. Because a drooping sunflower is a little heartbreaking to see.

It's funny because I wrote it all out one of those nights where the words just come, but rereading it, I realize I missed things. So much of this can only be explained in metaphors. And there lies the greatest barrier between myself and anyone who wants to know me. Without my words, I'm nothing. Fortunately or unfortunately. 

P.S. Shirts!

Pidgeons

This show is helping me figure myself out. It feels like a Peanut Gallery. I'm a good lead, I have three beautiful people I've known all my life who love me, and we are that year. We're them. And it's wonderful and when I'm in that auditorium, I feel complete. I go there when we're at attention, I go there when I'm in class and the kids around me make me want to feel sad and lucky. I am lucky. In those moments when I let myself think of nothing and my thoughts go to this or that, I just hold Fred in my mind, run the last few lines and decide it's okay.

Somehow, sometimes, everything is just as it should be.

Dear God,

I know you can hear how the words feel in my head. I know you understand what I'm asking. Please.

I would like to take a moment to thank the everlasting immensity of the ocean and the fleeting fragility of a flower for my faith and for my resilience.

Serendipity

And it's funny because it's nothing. It's nothing. Nothing.

"I heard the church bells from afar, 

But we found each other in the dark"

I'm a big girl. And I'm going to pass through senior year with flying colours and go to college and live in Europe and be a person and it's going to be great. I must believe that.

"Black beast, out in the wilderness,

We are fighting to survive and convalesce"

I suppose 'we' is incorrect.  Plural pronouns usually are, unless you add 'respectively'.

"We're gonna live, we're gonna live, we're gonna live like the rest"

I suppose I haven't good reason for any of this. This is silly. Everything is silly. I have work to do. Just. I'm afraid to forget. The thought of all this from the mind of memory breaks my heart a little bit. 

"Through the black soulless water,

And the cold lonely air,

On the rock restless seas,

The vessel in deep disrepair,

And the swans, they start singing,

But then Oh! Rejoice

I can still hear your voice.

And I heard the church bells afar,

And we found each other in the dark"

Hhhhhhhmmmmmmm.

You. You always manage to swoop in right when I need you. Even when I don't know it. Tonight I thought of the first time we met. I sat on the floor of a boat heartily laughing for the first time in a long time. I got root beer float spilled all over my too-small dress. I don't even drink soda. I would have corrected your pronouns if you'd been using them. But you weren't, which stuck in my head. Which, I suppose, helped along that nagging little feeling I can still find lingering around the cavern in my chest on nights like this one. And I smile. 

I can't always be growing. There are times when it's nice to just say what's on my mind. I'm going to be eighteen soon, and until then, I will be seventeen. There's is nothing I can do to fast forward myself into adulthood, nor do I wish there was. I'm happy right where I am, just so long as 'here' doesn't involve being pushed to 'there'.

You. I was unaware of how strong your presence can be. You are thrillingly human. And I love it. Stay awhile. 

Story!

Me. All Day.

Yep.

I want my bed back.

Leave me that, at least. This counts so much more for me, in my life, in my head. Which is now in control again and doing a great job of controlling my words and a piss poor job of making me feel better. The whole facade is going to fall down and all that will be left is me. It's only a matter of time.
Rosin made my week. Probably made my whole summer, because when I play, I find closure and catharsis. And it's exactly what I need.
Fireworks are saving my life. The Taco Bell runs, the blasted music, the inside jokes and secrets and landslides are my favorite part of this summer. We are us, and you are going to be the first person I drive and the first person I add on skype. We need a road trip next year.

"Do not grow old, no matter how long you live. Never cease to stand like curious children before the Great Mystery into which we were born." 
-- Albert Einstein 

Love letter

:)!

Okay. I'm leaning into eighteen already. Which, leaning into the next step is strictly prohibited, but that's okay because you like me and my naps. So I don't feel too bad. I remember when this was going to be a very big deal for me in the category of you. Funny how Fourteen thinks, isn't it?
I'm a much better writer now, I can see that much. I'm very proud of that.
Someone, eventually, won't question my worth. I hope. Your tears made me want to run away and never come back, so you never have to feel like that again. So I burrow into my room and make it somewhere I can imagine spending all my time in, so I don't intrude on your happy family of two. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Summer is good to me. I'm basking. The cold will be quite a shock, I expect.


P.S. Your naivety and your angel face melted my heart a little. "My dad will drive you!"

Always.

(Damn subplot. I am refusing to see that possibility.)

My kids will read it. They'll feel it, too. Thank you for my childhood. Alan deserves an Oscar. He deserves many, but this one especially. The bravest man I ever knew.

I don't mind the sunburn because the conversation was wonderful and infinitely more varied than I expected it to be.
Magic Rainbow walks by every morning, and I am picking up senior pictures. It is surreal. I don't feel like I'm on this side of the glass yet. I do, however, understand the use of the word creepy. Finally. My A string is quite flat; the pin is missing.
I still have no songs for these waves of whatever the hell this emotion is, and that is incredibly frustrating to me. And anything I suggest will lose it's connotation of me the moment it means something to anyone else. Whatever. It feels like winter tonight.
I keep deciding and undeciding. Since when do I question myself there so much? I think I just now rolled my eyes about six times in a row.

P.P.S.

I hear you loud and clear.

I hate that this subject involves itself in so much of how I think.

This is an official and officially bitter goodbye to the ability to post what I actually think and feel. 

Outside is outside. And today that means cold and windy. And lonely. (I miss you two already.)

I shouldn't have said anything tonight because I'm Nobody right now.

I don't want that. What I want is a hug. And a notebook doesn't do either, but.
Neither do you.

dudut dudut dudut dudut dut dut duduh [...!], 

dut dut dut dut duh dudut dudut duh, dudut duduh The world has gone mad.

P.S. I'm stuck in A.

Ring Around the Rosy

LAME. Also, lame.
Whatever. I cried today. Whatever.
I'm a stone cold bitch. I understand that. But I will not have my words twisted against me. I refuse. I know it's a coping mechanism, so I just really hope that like. Ugh. I'm awful. I'm not going to try and justify this to either of you anymore. I'm done with this situation.

--This was a good thing for me. I'm glad I auditioned. I know myself better now.

UGH. This is so LAME. Goddamn it. Just like.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Dear world.
When you tell my friends things about me, they come and tell me. So let's all shut the fuck up, okay? Okay thanks.

Dear hot girl in front of Jamba Juice,
I can sing better than that, I promise. You have nice hair. Funny because that's what we were talking about before I started badly wailing the Stones.

Dear future AnybodyImportantInMyLife,
If ever there comes a time when you want to drive me away or shut me out or make me feel awful and insecure and sort of self-hating, use the word 'uncomfortable'. It's a quick fix; I'll stay away for a good few days.

Dear You,
Get your shit together and stop giving me a headache. Nothing works out for you, the end. Get over it. Your ring is stupid. Your thing with tuxedos is also stupid, especially since you're gay as fuck and it shouldn't be a thing. Drink more water. Quit it with the expectations.

Person!

You can't tell me where my heart is.I know it's condition and location. Thank you though.
Don't call me dumb. I'm doing my best, and you are not listening to me. And this, what you're doing? That's why not.

-----------------------

"People don't dismiss you until you dismiss yourself." 

 



 

Yeah Okay.

You. Deserve better than I could have given you. You're being more reasonable about this than I ever could be, on top of everything else you're going through. I have so much respect for you and it hurt me to do that. 

You. I don't know why you keep calling me, but it makes me feel important. You listen to me always, except when I'm bagging on myself. I'm really glad to know you and I'm excited to see who you'll become. 

You. Will always have that 'since elementary school' best friend title. I don't know what I would do without you. You can drive now. We're seniors. We have a baby class. We are so much older than we were sophomore year. Only two years. We've got this show and one more together. I don't even know what to say to you. You are my sister and I love you. 

You. Oh you. I missed your voice. You notice how I haven't yet directly said it to you? You fell asleep and I did. I'm smiling. My mother says our ship broke through the ice and pushed into the sunshine side. In a child's voice. Forgive her intrusion. Your stupid-tiredness makes this puppy trust humans again, at least for this week.

You. You are a terrible person this week and you will be alone for the rest of the year because your idiot heart is taken. And you deserve it, so shut up already. Or say something worth listening to. You assume too much. You shy away too much. Commit to yourself and then speak with conviction. Stop being ambiguous. Lose weight. Do your work. Stop hurting people.

You can't hear the letdown in a typed goodbye.

Two girls sitting on a couch, stage right. One is positively glowing,snuggled into the right corner. The other looks apprehensive, arms and legs crossed, eyebrows raised at the first. Single spot on them.

Myself: I got like twenty stories printed and I registered for summer school and I'm in another show and I'm really happy today. How are you?
Me: Tired.
Myself: ... Tired of what?
Me: You ignoring me.
Myself: What are you talking about? I'm not ignoring you.
Me: Yes, you are. You're too happy right now, and you know I can't keep up with that.
Myself: (Hesitantly) Well... Maybe you could try?
Me: Why would I do that? Happy is dumb. You shouldn't be so careless of other people's feelings.
Myself: I'm not sure I understand what you mean.
Me: You being happy hurts me. It's not fair and it makes me feel like I'm like. A burden sorta. Like, partly I feel like I'm ruining it for you and partly I think you're fucking stupid. You're going to get so hurt.
Myself: You don't know what you're talking about.
Me: I do know what I'm talking about. We're basically the same person, except that I'm the low one right now. The weight. So you dismiss me because I make you doubt the security of your situation. I make you doubt your parent's pride, their friend's compliments, your friend's loyalty. Your own loyalty, your promises and resolutions and love.
Myself: I know. (Sarcastically) I'm so thankful to have you. I mean, without you, I might be a goddamn optimist! How terrible would that be?!
Me: You're not taking me seriously.
Myself: You are serious enough for the both of us.
Me: Maybe. But you need to come back down from Cloud Nine or wherever the hell you are right now, and you need to breathe a minute and ask yourself what the hell do you think you're doing. Because I really can't tell.
Myself: I'm being okay, okay? Is that a big problem? I slept all the way through last night for the first time since the show opened. I don't have a headache. I can't feel my heart beating in my chest constantly. I can write, okay? I can write! And you have a problem with that?
Me: Well. Fine. I just. I worry for you. I worry you'll get hurt.
Myself: (Softly, dropping the grin on her face) You don't have to worry. I'm hurting. I saw it coming, and I let it happen. We made a bet, remember? And you won. Congratulations. (Looks away)
Me: (Moves to hug her)
Myself: (Turning away) No. Don't, I'm- it's fine. I'm fine. Whatever.
(They both chuckle sadly.)

Fireworks

Yes, it crossed my mind. I chose not to answer that particular question on formspring. 

Fireworks are something I need in my life. They remind me of my mom. I remember being afraid of them when I was little. I also remember being afraid of the dark and afraid of being on stage. All three used to make me cry, and now... I guess I'm a big girl now. A young woman, and I realized that on Saturday. My family holds me in high esteem, and I should do the same. Because every once in a while, I deserve it. He cried during the show. Which means more to me than anything else that happened this whole weekend. "Your daughter has a woman's voice." I don't have the luxury of hearing myself through a mic or from the auditorium, but I'm told I did well. And I got thanked for being on pitch, which is something I alwaysalwaysalways strive for.
I keep setting precedents for myself. It makes me really happy. I break my own records. I need to focus on swimming right now, and on school and reading and writing. I want to be caught up by the end of the summer. I want a 3.something next semester. I want to learn new words. 
I really enjoy being with you and you two. A combination of the three is a really good thing for me right. 
("No. Explain to me why you're leaving."
"Because you are not worth it." I heard it in your voice, not his. 
I know it's fearful of me not to be more tearful, but thank heaven I am.)
 

Fin.

Someone, punch me.

Funny how I always forget that falling leads to bruising. I had myself fooled for a good few months, but there are still no soft surfaces in my life. I see that now. Nothing can replace a notebook.

Band is literally saving my life right now. I have something to do other than sit in the stench of my own self-doubt. My freshmen are wonderful and sassy and they have personalities and I'm really truly excited for this season. Wednesday couldn't come any faster.

(Typical is as typical does.) 


-She brought me closer to humanity than I ever thought possible. And for a time, I was tempted by her offer.
=How long a time?

-Zero point six-eight seconds, sir... For an android*, that is nearly an eternity.

*keira

Something about an acoustic guitar

Smile-weeping. That's a thing now. A good thing. I'm going to have a major catharsis tonight. And I'm going to have a crick in my neck from letting it tilt so much this evening. I don't know what this is. It makes sense though. No conflict. No guilt, not right now. Or, not so present right now. I hope again one day to see you bring your smile back around again. I'm going to get through band just fine tomorrow. Even though you're in a different section and you're in Massachusetts and neither of you can hold my hand when I'm by myself... I'll be fine. The freshmen will be sweet and so will I. This will be a good season. 
I don't know. I've said that more times in the past few days than I can remember saying all year. And funny enough, I don't mind saying it. I don't feel self-conscious of not knowing with you. I bruise easily and often, but I don't worry about saying why I did this dumb thing or that to cause it. And I got out a story tonight, which I have not been able to do at all for about three weeks now. 11.11. But I already used the word radiant for you, so where's my thesaurus?
I still suck a lot. But. I don't feel like a complete failure right now, which is kind of a nice change.

Not fair

that I can only write in five when I'm distraught.

And as I fall into a fitful slumber,

The pain of what could be runs from my eyes.

The muscles in my heart are taut with holding, but

She has no use for bitter heavy sighs.

If only I had been a bit more happy,

If only I had thought to give her more,

But now my friend, my light, may walk away,

And take the little bit of heart she tore.

I promised her I'd walk. So I will. My diploma is thirty credits away.


Funny that now I have no words. I don't break promises to anyone but myself. My poem is stupid. I feel run down. My weak little legs hurt for no reason. I wake up with my phone in my hand. How pathetically dedicated is that? Make a wish; I want you to have reason to smile. I feel like I'm hurting you but I also feel like it's wrong to assume I have any effect on you at all. I don't matter to people. I'm not used to being needed, so I'm doing everything wrong. My sorries don't mean a thing to you anymore. Different family customs? I suck at acting, I know that. Um. Did I really just um? wow.
I know you meant what you wrote when you wrote it but. Is it meant to stay in the back of my yearbook and be remembered as something lost a long time ago? 
I would stay single for the next ten years if that meant you could have faith in me again.

"I danced with you."

"I hadn't noticed," she replied dryly. 
 
{You. I like talking to you. Don't doubt that. I'm just busy and bitchy and distracted and I'm sorry.}

 

I want to lash out at you. Really badly. Because I trust you. That's why I fight with my family, too.  I'm not going to though, because 1) I can handle myself, 2) I don't know how to say any of it, and 3) you deserve better. 

I love me, I love me, I love me. I really do. I just don't like me right now.

I ask a lot of questions. I don't know a lot of things. But I feel like there's a beauty in curiosity, so I'll continue to wonder. I have the whole summer to put together sentences to ask what I want to know. I plan to sit on my back patio with a notebook and read and write for hours.

I leave space so you're never in a situation you have no way out of. I never want to have to apologize for making you uncomfortable that way. That being said, it's thrilling to have been stuck with you.

P.s. Shoulders are a thing. Great. 

P.P.s. Class of 2012!

P.P.P.s. You are the cutest. Let's be friends. 

P.P.P.P.s. ... The common app. Hm.

P.P.P.P.P.s. I love you too.

There is a moment

When things officially become a fact. They are often surreal, seared into the brain as if by a branding iron.

I just. I've never really thought myself worth  tears of anything more than disappointment and frustration. 

I'm holding onto things so tightly right now. There's only a year left. I mean. What?

I let go of you though, oddly enough. I realized that last night. (Your hair is pretty.)

summer. summer. summer. summer. summer. summer. summer.

summer?

My words are cold and flat,

And you deserve more than that.

I cry every time I hear it. And your voice too... it was really hard to not.

I understand. 

I understand.

I understand. 

I don't want to break that promise; I gave you my word. As a gentleman and as a lady.

Things just aren't adding up lately and it's frustrating. Maybe it's the music I'm hearing, the piano, the brimming rests. Maybe it's the sorries that make me feel like I'm a burden, a guilt-trip. Is it bad that I made a playlist? Yes, yes it is. Thirteen songs of absolute idiocy. Remember the first time we sang? stopstopstopstopstopstopSTOPIT.

 I turn away for multiple reasons.

1. bye.bye.bye......

2. I have more class than that. 

3. The Please Don't Go look. Not okay. 
4. Maple syrup. And just as sweet. 

this is freaking me out. a lot. i need a hug? since when do i legitimately admit that? it's the anxiety i think. the shaky little girl in me. i feel like i'm lost in a store or something.

I say the absolute stupidest things sometimes. I wish I didn't know myself so well. 

I don't know where home is right now. I know where I feel it, I also know where I should feel it. It hasn't clicked that this is over now. I keep trying to picture what next year will be like and I just can't. I need to find a rhythm. I need to find a diamond. I need a goal, a thing to work for that I can actually attain. collegecollegecollege. (Yours is my favorite.)

P.S. If you're a puppy, I'm a puppy.what?!

You be the anchor that keeps my feet on the ground, I'll be the wings that keep your heart in the clouds.

And honestly, I have been begging for answers

I said no. We were only a few blocks away. I said no anyway. This is why. 

I'd have walked in distracted. I'd have looked up and given you a vacant hello. You'd  have said Hi in that way you do when I greet you while still partly in my head and I would have laughed softly. You'd have actually look at me then and realized I'd been crying and you would have asked me What's wrong?
Nothing. I'm fine.

Keira. You'd have said it in a way that cares. And then I'd have melted on the inside, because the outside is already stained with tears. And then I would have been a puddle who only had a few words. 

I'm in love with you. 

I don't know what would have happened then. I just know that in that moment, it would have been very much a truthful statement. 

I didn't though. Because it's one of those nights, when everything is terribly correct and things are going wrong but nothing bad can happen. So it's true right now. I don't know if it will be as true in the morning. Or the next time I try to start a story. Or when I wake up at two am to pee, or when I'm walking her to class or when I play that last run in Tornado. I need to be sure. I need to be as sure of it as I am when I walk out of history every day. 

And now you're probably thinking I'm ridiculous. Story of my life.  

I missed 11:11 twice today.
 
  

This is freaking me out a lot, that this book hasn't clicked for me yet. It's because there's no third person omniscient and no stream of consciousness. I haven't a thing to go on. I feel weak. I feel like I shouldn't even be saying anything about how I feel because no one wants to hear me complain because it's annoying and not becoming and since when do I feel so immature? Since when is my character constantly called into question? Since when can I not come up with sarcastic rebuttals? Since when do I get hurt? I'm not completely spineless, but once in a while, think about what if he said that to you? I hate this side of vulnerability. Is it weird that I'd rather hang out with just you tonight than everyone and everyone else? It's weird. Okay. Okay the end.

"I'm sorry. When I'm not on my meds I ask a lot of questions." Thank you society for ruining his right to curiosity. 

Going on (summer).

I'm a real teenager right now. Really tired and really attracted and really really ready for school to be over. I'm also dreading it. But I want band camp to start. But I want that moment  every day when I walk into English and first see you. That is just golden for me. But I also don't want to have any reason in the world to awake before nine am. Except maybe Disneyland. I want to see the sun rise. I want to be awake enough to watch it set. I want I want I want. Real teenager.
I have a 2.7. Thank you world. My hair looks good right now. Lucky me, just in time to go to sleep.
I hatehatehate earthquakes. They make me cry.
Weird thing. I cry a lot now. I didn't use to, but now I do. I like it better this way.

Like a beautiful sunbeam.

Yet again, I find myself writing out paragraphs and then deleting every word. You know I'd never lie to you. I don't do gratuitous compliments. It's not to be polite. It's not because I'm biased. You're fucking wonderful. At least believe that I mean it with all my heart. 
atleastoutloud
I'm not unhappy about not going to prom. Sitting with you three in that theater made my night better than any amount of make up or pictures would. You make me smile, friends. 


This decision was made in my head months ago. I'm just glad we could work it out. No hard feelings. I get my last horns down and some real creases in my shoes. Honestly, I'm relieved. 
I want to know who you grow into.

I am writing two stories at the same time about the same thing.

You should know that  I suck at keeping my own secrets. The fact that my mouth is shut still means you count more than I can explain. You're younger, which. I dunno. It's weird to think about.
These stories should be interesting. Because I can't embellish. It's a simple narrative, and even though I process everything with beautiful words, I can't remember all of them. There are plenty of metaphors and allusions and other literary devices I could use for anything. There is only a half second missing of colorful description. It's completely and utterly, disconcertingly blank. Which doesn't bother me nearly as much as it should. Four. Five. Six. Seven.I look forward to the eventually where I can stay in that sweet little town for while.
I need more potassium. I need to be a  competent performer. I need more hugs in my life.
I am worried sick about you. You mean so damn much to me and you don't even realize it. You are the only person older that me that has lived up to my expectations and I can't thank you enough for that.

Perfection.

The sky. Flowers. If a harmony can produce an overtone. The way Kleenex leans to the side of the box. Sometimes I'll catch a girl in the perfect light and she'll look like an angel or something. The way water spouts from a drinking fountain. A blinking cursor. Hardwood floors. The hem of any dress. Waists. A paper with only letters on it, no smudges or anything crossed out, with consistent handwriting. So hand written final drafts. Clean paper too. Pianos. Faded silver. The word 'daughter'. Eyes, as long as they're not bloodshot. Small children. Clouds. The look of the air in the beginning of spring. Dirt roads without litter. Sea shells. Wrist bones. A clean white window frame. A well-loved cello. A clean sheet of music. A well proportioned paragraph. When someone wears jean that fit them exactly right. Footprints. A lowercase k in cursive. Collarbones. Waves. Sailboats and large masted ships. Prairies. Ribbons. Blue paisley.

I don't do the crying thing about lifted tension. Usually.

Broken Validation

 And so, with threat of light, the flood gates burst.


sing me to heaven

I gave you my word as a gentleman.

So what is happening a lot lately is that for like twenty minutes I'll feel unhappy, and then I talk to you again and the unhappy just shrivels away like a raisin in the sun until it's not there. I can't not smile. I treasure the chances I get to compliment you because I've never before been properly afforded the opportunity. I am still surprised by how happy all this makes me. 


P.S. 'He' is friendly and 'her' is pretty. Since forever. (Duh.)

Smiling In Spite Of Myself

I have no reason to be this happy. None at all. But when you smile, you have this little dimple and I can't do anything about what's on my face at all. The difference is that I don't have to stop myself. I'm still incredulous.
You'd think I'd be bitter or sad. Yes, there is want but no disappointment. What I'm feeling is that I'll have someone. I will find a beautiful person and I'll marry her and we'll have a good life.

Hopefully Yours Someday,

A Hand-Picked Flower

Relief. That's what this is. We're still friends? What? 
I literally am so happy. Not just content. I am happy all the time, except when you're not.(All I could think of was Dennis.) And even then, I'm glad my company is valued. The one-year mark will come and go and we'll miss it because it doesn't matter. This is what it's supposed to be like. 

You are running me down. I can't deal. I know how to speak English. I understand our vernacular. Newsflash: I don't think about you all the time. Don't flatter yourself by acting like I need disclaimers to comprehend what you say to me.

You're finally getting your letter. I promise.
 

My dress fits.

Finally. It's hard to sing when you can't breathe. 
I can't believe this. How could I be so stupid? I'm so far from Arizona it's not even funny. 
So all those little things were just. Deliberate. For a reaction, no more or less. Fishing, if I want to be harsh about it. Manipulation. 
It's just hitting me what I've said. Oh my god. Arizona?!
That's just mean. Except not, because I know it wasn't supposed to be and I was tickled by the thought, not hurt. But whatever. I'm wavering. This is why you're the actress and I'm not.

Thanks Dennis.

I don't want this particular subplot in my life. Unfortunately, subplots develop quietly, often without the initial consent of the writer. I just have to keep it from distracting from the main story. I've been very tempted to write outrageous lies to distract you from my slowly disintegrating brave face. Not that you've ever been fooled by that.
Go help Chad.

We planted a rose garden in the front yard.

It's always breakfast. I don't know why. Eggs and toast with jam and orange juice. And always in that house on 15th. Because of the way the light streams in through the kitchen window. 

I'm going to use every single stupid love quote from the show. Watch.

Like I've said, being up alone in the dead of night gives me this weird strength, a sort of weary disdain toward the opinions of anyone I could piss off. And while I enjoy the feeling of being able to conquer the world single-handedly, it's always in the back of my mind that I'm going to reach the top all by myself. It's very lonely.

There is a feeling you get when you're awake in the wee hours of the morning surrounded by people you love, by people who love you. It's like your soul is right there in front of everyone, like you're naked. The name of the game is vulnerability but. Everyone is naked, so it's okay. There comes a moment when people just start saying things, the most ridiculous things with the most incoherent, ridiculous words, and everybody just sits there knowing exactly what everyone means. 
I didn't cry. I just watched the faces of all the seniors. It was weird. No one really believed they were sitting there in front of everyone. It was this night last year that gave me a good reason to do drama, and it was last night that is making me question whether I should try for Advanced. Because I want that. I want to sit with you all and feel it. I don't want to be outside looking in anymore. I want a waste of a period everyday. 


There's a moment in Follow That Dream. Two beats of bass drum that I feel in the deepest part of me, the ritardando into that last verse. #tears


The tears in your eyes... you have my heart.

Okay so like.

This is staying. You're right down the street. You're my go-to girl, as bad as that sounds. Always have been. Just stay beautiful. For me, please. 


This is not something I planned for. It was supposed to be a summer thing, a fall thing. Not a second semester dependency thing. I have a friend who hates you. I don't though. I just... It's hard for me to be around you when I can't hold your hand. I keep two feet between us on purpose because I wouldn't be able to not close the gap, were it any smaller. If you kissed me, right this second, I wouldn't stop you. I would get hurt very badly and I would let it happen.

This is funny to me. That this is happening. You guessed right away. I let my thoughts dance on my face and then the blush burns everything into focus for you. So yes, you're attractive. Yes, I have a crush on you. No, it's not a big deal. It's just funny. Go J.

I've been thinking about... prom? Oh my.
 

Please

Don't ask me what's on my mind. [...]
Except that part isn't true because I'm not an idiot, thanks though.
I really like this show. I understand it. Funny how the shows seem to reflect my life as they run.
I was laughing so hard I cried. And then I just cried. I'm really glad you weren't there to see that. I don't know. I can't even decide whether I don't know or I dunno.
Reckless abandon is something I sometimes wish I had. A certain disregard for the rules.
And that's me speaking, not you. And it's 11.11.

P.S. Those collarbones kill me every single time. 

Morning Sky

I have faith in my own reason and restraint. I'm not going about it the wrong way because I'm not putting effort into that side of the situation. I live and die in the friend zone so. I dunno what this is at the moment. I wonder how many times the script asks, "Have you ever been in love?" I'll count next rehearsal.

THIS SHOW. It's real. It's not lala land (Oz), it's not magic or munchkins. It's motorbikes and greasy dresses and falling stupid in love and it just makes sense. There's no feeling of a different world or being violently picked up and thrown into terrible predicaments that make you redefine your life. It's HERE. Pretty dresses and harmonies is all stupidity needs.

I don't know how to gracefully ask this but.

Since when do I know what it feels like to be hit in the gut?
I decided I wanted to know but now I'm undeciding. I could only roll my eyes and walk away because all I could think of to say was 'sorry'. It would be a lot easier if you were a bitch. Did my question warrant a smile? Maybe I'm just something to laugh at.

Green Light

So like. Hm. Here's the thing. You can't tell me it's okay to be reckless. It's like a dare. I'll do it and that would cause a bunch of unknowns to be thrown in both our faces. But like. I would, as bad as that sounds. You're sort of taking my rule about underclassmen and tearing it to shreds.


The G is G. Basically. I'm actually reading.

What do you do with a B.A. in English?

Without a teaching credential, nothing. 

I'm hanging up this call. I can't  sit here in tears, perpetually on hold, any longer. I just won't do it. 

That smile is something I never thought I'd receive. I really never thought it would happen like that either. 

I wish I could write in first person, coherently.

No more February stories. 

I wish that you knew when I said two sugars, actually I meant three.

P.S. Never say chivalry is dead.

All Right

I literally walked into the parking lot of my youth expecting disaster. I thought everything would go terribly, terribly wrong. I was wrong.

The evening panned out exactly as it should have, exactly as I needed. I sat in the front with a friendly friend and got a smile from a very pretty girl and I wasn't late to leave. I didn't realize how far I've come until now. And a healthy dose of whatifs to top off the night.

Oh!

Why am I still smiling? Is that what this is?

(My heart grew tipsy in me.)

Walk me to the door.

Oh boy. Oh girl. We'll just say my call is still on hold. I'm going to set the phone down and drink some chocolate milk and check back later.I'm thisclose to hanging up and I really don't want to because then there'll be all those stupid whatifs that'll just kill me.

I write. I am a writer. The month of February will be all love poems though, so the next few days will be interestingly ticklish.

I swear I would apply. I just can't bring myself to do it. Or maybe I'll apply and then not go. As beautiful as the seasons are, I couldn't put myself through it all again. so.

Paige made it look so easy. Just... bam. Done. Don't tell. Why does it look so damn easy on screen?

Anything Goes.

This is pleasant. 

I am legitimately pleased with the way things stand right now. I feel so comfortable. I can be in this show. I can meet these new people (prettygirls!) without needing to be someone. Within the group... I dunno. Answering that question with an honest to god YES makes everything easier. I feel optimistic.

TAP!

Eleven

You have to understand that years twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen are all welling up inside of this seventeen--year-old, and they're all conflicting with each other. Twelve is totally overwhelmed and therefore scared shitless. Thirteen is moody, thinking this shouldn't have happened because obviously I'm the center of the universe and you all should know better. Fourteen is saying fuck. Over and over. Fifteen is the crying. Fifteen is always the crying. Sixteen is thinking of all the whatifs. Seventeen is done. Seventeen is exhausted and weary. Seventeen thinks all the other ages have their own benefits, but would really appreciate it if they would shut the fuck up for one goddamn second. Seventeen wants to be eighteen and away from all this. More than that, Seventeen really wishes she could just throw a tantrum like Ten and people would just be okay with that. 

"You do an actual polite-smile, but you’re fairly certain it’s drenched in a noticeable anxiety, because everything running through your veins right now is having a nerve-wracking effect on your internal world—it feels like when grade-school kids dump a bunch of paint together to make the color brown—your body’s just dumping any emotion it has until it finds the way you’re supposed to feel right now."

As collected as I seemed all day, I felt like the twelve-year-old. I wouldn't put a twelve-year-old in any situation without some sort of briefing.
Sometimes, I need to be treated with all the sensitivity with which one would handle a little girl. Why do I sound so fucking vulnerable?
I just... goddamn it. I'm going to sleep and I'm not waking up until noon tomorrow, and if I wake up in the dead of night again, I will break down and cry like a baby.

To have and to hold.

That's the one that gets me. I feel like a child when I say  
It's not fair.

But for now, all I need to think about is getting through the next semester. I want Thin Mints and an A in English. Simplicity. 


On that note, those four syllables are incredibly simple. [hello...] 
I don't know why I still can't say them. It's all me, my awkwardness and my not knowing how to act. So I'll just do my best and hope for patience on the receiving end. 


Feather River College?
 

Stream of Consciousness

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Well. At least I can spell. 

This is interesting. It's never happened before. So. 

But it's not particularly uncomfortable. Which you might think it would be, but it's not.

Journals are now very dangerous, is all.
As much as I like to pretend otherwise, I am a green and incredibly impressionable seventeen-year-old girl.

story!!!

I need to work on finishing sentences.

It's a complicated fear;

As long as I don't get stupid.
I'll just pay attention to my English grade and keep writing in second person. And everything will be fine. Idk [...]

I keep thinking about what happens when we leave. Because everything is being held together with glitter glue. (We all know just how long that lasts.)

New phone!!!

What the hell am I doing here

I should have known, that very first day when I saw your name scribbled on my stand, that I should have sought closure. This open wound is bleeding again and I don't have the energy anymore to go find something to stop it. Sometimes, a plague is something that makes you bow your head and say nothing. 

M. and K.

[mel and kali]

Melancholy.

Why am I letting this happen. I said it would happen. I said I would let it too, but the me who said it wasn't so bleeding vulnerable.

Is it really coincidence that song came on Pandora right after you mentioned it?
Prompt 27: Write about an empty glass.

I'm sick of being Keira. Can I be KeiraandSomeone, for once. One fucking day. 

college.college.college.college.college.college.college.

Just get me out of here. I've had second semester senior syndrome since I was fourteen. Get me the fuck out.

She's running out again

She running out

She's run

run

run

run

run

Drifting

OHMYGOSHYAYHAPPYSOPROUDOFYOUTELLMEALLABOUTITGOGOGO!!!!

Wait just kidding. Don't ever talk to me. I won't talk back. Stupid teenage girl.

I've been posting three or four times a week. Because my thoughts are no longer flowing. Just trickles, and they dry up so damn fast, I'm afraid to lose them. I'm afraid to lose my mind.

I mean. I said it would happen. Bet my bottom dollar and won the million, baby.

"To be so vulnerable does not happen to me"
(nonono! NO!)

In your two-ton death trap, I finally saw

A piece of love on your face that filled me with regret

And you drove me places I'll never forget

And we are so fragile, our cracking bones make noise and we are

Just breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

Something about a beautiful girl.

I don't blush. It just doesn't happen. To be so vulnerable is something that does not happen to me.

Someone. Punch me in the face. 
"How could I be so stupid!"

[And wow. Little things like that pull me all the way back to fucking fifteen. Punch me in the face. I can't even think of a plus side right now.]



No, that's a lie. At least... I dunno. At least I know I have some guts now.

Gracious: 

1. pleasantly kind, benevolent, and courteous.

2. indulgent or beneficent in a pleasantly condescending way, esp. to inferiors.

I'm almost resigned to waiting until college. Almost.