Like falling flower petals

I love him.

I love him.

I love him.


That is all that ever matters.

I don't care.

Who cares about her?

Who cares about that?

This only will make my love for him grow.

I want to prove to myself and to him that I am better.

I want to be the very thing that makes his world go 'round.

It isn't her.

It was never her.

So, forget her. It's irritating, but forget her. He's mine now.

Hahaha...!

...Isn't it...foolish...to think there's purity on this earth?

The stupidest things irritate me.

People
are
disgusting.

It's embarrassing to admit that I am human.

I know you're trying to level with me, and I appreciate it, but...

I don't think you understand.

...I...I don't think many do,
or they say they do, when they are the very thing that disgusts them.

I wonder where the stopping point is, and I wonder where a thing of purity lies.

Is it heaven? and will I get there?

I think too much, and I screw up because I think too much.

...

Good point.

I don't ever want to cross that barrier, to become a thing that I hate.

It's true I may spout self-loathing here and there, but I still have self-worth.

It disgusts me how
little
people do.

I must expect too much
...or want too much.

I guess even when I'm supposed to be happy, I'm a cynic.

Nothing will change that about me.

I guess I just need to give the world a good look in the eyes
and say
I don't give a fuck.

...but, we both know me too well.

I can hide and pretend I don't care,
when it really shakes me to the bone.

I wish I could make my brain stop
...just...stop, for once.




"If you find out how, let me know."

Why does it still irritate me, things in the past, things that were beyond my control in the first place?

I’m hurt, but I’m recovering.
I am me, and I am every single one of you.

It happens so, so very differently every single time. Love.

Yet, it’s the same.
It’s all the same.

I want to be loved. I get obsessed with the concept.

Smile for me, sugar. I think I’ll be okay so long as you smile at me. Hold it. Freeze. Don't stop. Love me. Give me the capacity of your lungs.

Time is too valuable to be spent worrying about such things.

I'll do my work -- do what I have to do -- so that I can forget about all of this.


And eventually, I'll forget your kindness.




I was wrong anyway, about a lot of things.

This is just who I am.

I've let you down, just as I have the others.

I wonder when I'll finally start learning from my mistakes.

From here on, I'm tired.

I hate you.

You scare the hell out of me.

Just go away.

Turn away. I don't want to look at you.

I don't want to hear you.

I hate you.

Don't touch me.

Don't give me that.

Don't speak so softly to me. Don't tell me these things.

I hate you...

...but the truth is, I don't really hate you at all.

I want to be alone. I'm afraid, and I want to be alone.

Why can't you see that? Why do you have to keep trying?
Why do you keep watching me fall? Every time, always, why are you there to catch me?

You're so stupid, with your stupid voice, and your stupid shirt, and your stupid way of smiling like it's the easiest thing in the world to do.

I'm such an idiot.

She asks,
"Are you happy?"

He asks,
"wtf is up with you?"

I say,
"I don't know."

He says,
"Learn to take a compliment."

She says,
"You're a cynic to everyone sometimes, dear."

And I say,
"I know."

It's all the same.

Maybe I've just forgotten.
Maybe I'm forgetting how to breathe.

There are some days when I feel so awkward in my own skin.

But, it's okay, because I know I have people who love me as I am.

In spite of my social lameness --- the stumbling over my own two feet, the stuttering of words...what makes me feel at home is when I have friends who can just swiftly take the pain away with a simple hello.

Sometimes I just want to let the tears flow, because I'm never sure if I'm happy or sad.

I love you.

Aishiteru.

Everyone...


I really, really...love...




Everything's going to be okay.

I want to bury myself in the sand.


I want to fall into the sea.


I want to drive into the sun, and disappear.


I want to explode in the hot, hot heat.






I don't want to ignore it anymore.



Please don't love me. Please turn away from me. I know you can.

Is it distance that brings us closer, or is it the absence of truth that makes us forget?

I prefer the lie any day.


I want to believe that we're stitched together by the strongest of threads, forever...forever...

In reality, we're so terribly worn...



Fraying.






Slowly, painfully.



♪ ♫ I want to turn this all around now, take a step down. How can we all get along? We were so violent and young... ♫

Grandma's friend Allis came over today.

Somehow they were talking about birthdays, and then mine came up (again).

Every time that word comes up, I feel like I'm getting swiftly stabbed in the chest with a plastic butter knife. >__<


Anyway, Allis says,
"Nineteen... *whistles* That's a beautiful age. I got married at 19, y'know."



Yeesh.



*snort* Then my Grandma chimes in,
"Never do it."

Hahaha. Oooh, young love. I can't say I disagree.

It's funny; last time I checked, I hated raisins. I guess a little sugar really can go a long way.

"But the truth was, [she] hated details. She loved to plunge into projects, tackle them for about ten minutes, and then lose interest. All around our house were little piles of things that had once held her attention: aromatherapy kits, family tree software, stacks of Japanese cookbooks, an aquarium with four sides covered in algae and one sole survivor, a fat white fish who had eaten all the others." ---This Lullaby, Sarah Dessen


Haha. Oh, going back to old books is fun, especially when you find little brilliant lines such as this. I almost forgot how much I loved Sarah Dessen.

If this doesn't perfectly describe my consistent inconsistencies, I don't know what could.

So many things left unfinished... I'm such a scatter-brain.

Ah well. I'm cut off from reading, I suppose. *grumbles* Little brother next door is trying to sleep. I'm already sick of these living conditions.



Tomorrow's a new day. Here's wishing for something beautiful.

Little notes like these seem to be popping up all over the place lately.

I found this one buried in my closet, in a box, beneath a mass of other boxes. Tied with a red bow.

I guess I was lonely, even from the start of it all. It's in the past now. It reads:

I don't come off the way I'd like to. Don't you wish we could just be who we are without feeling this strange compulsion to hide beneath a mask of what we've been programmed to think we're supposed to be? . . . I'm rendered useless. . . . Am I wasting my time on a fleeting dream? . . . I simply hate the fact of knowing his feelings, yet realizing that he does not - and could not - comprehend just how much I suffer from this.