Saturday, February 11, 2012
It is 9:37 in the morning and I am at school. . .I have been here since around eight for one class. Algebra. Science I can get, English I'm fine with, Music I excel at BUT math I fail at every time. As I move forward in life and get better at everything I do I still can't figure out math. I'm well aware that it is just steps. If you know the steps than you can figure it out fairly easily. I just can't seem to grasp and remember each step, it all seems very arbitrary and useless to me.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
You look around, it seems like everyone else is handling themselves with great dignity, they go through break ups, they lose friends and just move on, it amazes you. There is this girl. You saw her every day, you wanted her so bad. It wasn’t sexual at all, she was great to you. She treated you so well and made you pull out ideas and emotions you though you never had. You would say, “I’m fine!” and she would call you out knowing you weren’t. You would make fun of yourself and she would expose that you only do this to protect yourself. She made you so happy, she was always there.
She wasn’t yours, she never was. Someone else had her. You were a side project, an accessory. At least that’s how you felt. It’s not like she meant to do this to you, and she didn’t, you did this to yourself.
You and I are the same. We are the same person. So what now? With her gone you need sedatives to make it through the day. Your songs aren’t inspired, your work ethic is nearly gone. Weed, alchohol, and sleeping pills are all that’s on your mind now.
You write on a tumblr that has become a type of secret journal that anyone could see if they only knew the url. Maybe she could see this, maybe she would know who it was about. Maybe she would call you to talk. Maybe the idea of a “maybe” scenario is all that keeps you going.
You started writing this knowing it would be about you, you try to write in the third person even though anyone that had known you for more than a day could see right through you. Just like she could.
You know that it was more than a crush, you could tell by that empty feeling after she left.
You know it will never be more than what it is.
It is what it is.
And it is over