this goes out to my heart's desire.

I wanted to write you some words. Perhaps some that meant something or told you all about my feelings for you. I’m still not one-hundred percent certain, but aren’t there always doubts? There’s no such thing as a happy ending or a fairy tale. All I can give you is my determination… but I don’t want that to be misconstrued. I’m not trying to force you into anything- I promise. It’s simply this. I’m convinced there’s something for me in there somewhere. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. I hope it’s more than that. I want to talk about this so desperately, but I’m scared of boring you with the same old, same old.

Sharing words and thoughts with people far wiser than I… I’ve learned things. Things like it’s nature being akin to lightning- it never strikes in the same place twice. Going into this, I think I may have rushed things because, well… because I was so eager. And for that, I guess I should apologize. I’m not technically sorry about what was done so much as when it was done. In other words, I regret only the timing.

I hope that in time you’ll come to realize that there’s more to love than the initial attraction and that the silver lining isn’t always synonymous with the silver screen. This is, more than likely, a learning experience for you being that I’ve gone through so much more heartache. In a way, you’d think I’d be the one with the stone heart in this.

In the end, it’s just not manly to feel, is it?

so i drugged them up with my cunning words.

I wish I could say I was over her. Not even her, per se, but... the lies she told me and the shit she dragged me through. It's taken a lot to clean myself off, so to speak. I suppose it's just one of those things.

I want to stop thinking about her bullshit, because it's making me worry for no real reason. I'd love to watch her body disintegrate inside an inferno, because that's the only way she'd know how I feel right now.

But I digress.

He was supposed to wake me with a call. In his defense, he did say "maybe." I build myself up only to tear myself down. He doesn't know what he's gotten himself into. I don't want to scare him away.

it's just one of those days. shut up, brain. i'm tired of thinking.

I wish he'd call. I'm getting paranoid. But I don't want to turn into her. I don't want to be so clingy that I end up pushing him away. Because I really do love him, of this I'm certain. True, it's so soon... and I want to trust my heart. But my brain keeps saying "hold on, girl."

I hate the head-heart wars.

so, this is love.

I forgot how fun it was, the stage where I’m still figuring everything out. As with my other truths, I like the mundane. There’s just something about it that makes me feel… comfortable. It’s not as exciting, but there’s something magical about being able to share silence and feeling like it wasn’t a waste of time. I hope you can understand what I mean. Being able to enjoy a presence without having to talk, talk, talk is liberating in its own way. I like just watching him. I often find myself staring, zoning out. Whether he’s stretching, or playing a game, or taking a shower, I like to watch him. Not like a lecher (though there are times when…).

I know I’ll have a hard time expressing it verbally, or even in words, so I guess that’s why I’m simply putting it here. For those who know me best to see, and attempt to know how it is that I feel right now.

I think that this time, this is the real deal, whereas last time I was just resorting. Selfless mind-indulgence, if you will. Because I was doing something for someone else, when a relationship should be about both parties. It was foolish, and now I see that while she may not have been settling on her wants, I was. Pretense, ruse, call it what you will. We’re all guilty of leading someone on at some point (don’t deny it). Just some… more than others.

because nobodies can't feel.

We're through, you and I. Because you never could trust me. You never have. You can't convince me that you have. So this is goodbye. Maybe we'll be friends, though I doubt it'll work until you grow the fuck up. It's really sad that people have to yell in your face to tell you you're childish, that you seem to admit to it, yet never change.

I defended you. There was a time when I probably loved you. I don't know when it faded. But I don't love you anymore, because I'm sick and tired of your shit. I'm sick and tired of you thinking you can manipulate me. You didn't make me like anything- I would have liked that stuff regardless of who introduced me to it. Don't think you're so special.

You need to realise one thing.

People leave you in the dust because you treat them like objects. You treat them like they're yours to do with as you please. You don't talk to people you find annoying, and instead of just TELLING people, you beat around the bush and make it worse. IF YOU WOULD JUST TALK IT WOULDN'T BE SO HARD. Stop being so scared, because life's not worth living if you're not willing to take a risk.

Get off your ass and stop complaining about things. Stop lying. Stop treating people like they don't matter.

And I know you.

You'll say you knew this would happen, you'll beg for pity from everyone. You'll make a sobby post about how your life is over and maybe even dig some flesh out of those wrists. You'll do anything for attention. When the attention shifts, you do something like this because heaven forbid the spotlight get off of you.

You're no better than the people that annoy you.

You're a legend in this room, only in this room.
Oh goodness me, oh goodness, my mind has slipped
And wiped you away from it.
Same shit, different day, same shit.

there's nothing pleasant about tearing me in half.

I wish you'd both reconcile. I wish you'd realize that you're both being childish. Running away may give you peace of mind and take you away from the problem at hand, but it won't fix this. You were so close and you let something like petty jealousy (over something nonexistent, mind you) break everything. It's all in your head, and you don't want to hear it because you hate being wrong. You hate it so much that you're willing to lose all of your friends just to be right.

Ever since you left, you've changed. If you don't believe people can change, then you can't even see yourself. Because you're not the same person I knew a few weeks ago. You're proof enough, so look at yourself through my eyes- yours are too clouded with bias to know the difference. Maybe you feel more comfortable in your new skin because you're not being yourself. Did you ever think that you're pretending to be who you wish you were? But that's not the person we've grown to love, my dear. We loved you the way you were- granted with slight improvements. This new you is too different, and I daresay too rash and prone to bad judgment.

I don't remember you ever being so temperamental. Maybe I just didn't really know you. But the change is far too sudden and the only thing I can attribute it to is the most sudden change.

If you must know, people are tired of hearing complaints and excuses.

By all means, complain. No one can stop you. But don't get so upset when someone tries to suggest something, and don't just write it off with a simple excuse. I know I'm guilty for making excuses, but if I didn't I wouldn't be human. Besides, it takes one to know one, as the saying goes.

To the other party involved, you're letting your age and immaturity be your only excuse sometimes. People wonder why I stick so close to you, and sometimes I wonder it too. I really wish you'd stop trying to be so cool for everyone and just be. There's a certain facade you exude that needs to be broken down like Berlin. You're just trying so hard to fit in, and you're making it- there's no mistake about that- but you're not being true to yourself...

People don't just suddenly hate that which they loved. You're only telling yourself that because you don't want the words and the songs to own your heartbeats.

Because if you lie to yourself about it enough, it might become truth.

But that's not the way to do things, and I wish you could admit to it.

This is me getting my thoughts out, no matter how jumbled they may be. This is me trying to explain what I want from you, and you. This is the only way I know how to say it, and I want to say it so desperately to you both but I lack the courage. I doubt this will ever be read by the ones that need to read it most, the ones that will understand its meaning, be offended or upset by it, not want to talk to me, whatever. But I'm too much of a coward to say it to anyone's face.

i am every cliche, but i simply do it best.

What is truly generic? Why do people just lump something into that category when they know little to nothing about it? And why do they make it seem like you can't prove them otherwise because they don't feel like learning about the intricacies of whatever genre you're going on about?

The fact is, dear readers, that I am nothing more than an imitation. Nothing about my personality is or will ever truly be mine and I'm okay with that. Why can't other people be okay with it? Why do I have to be one hundred percent original? Why does anyone? You can't copyright an entire genre.

If I want to draw anime, fucking let me and don't try to discourage me with "you need to make it yours" or the like. Because that's just a fancy way of saying, "but it's just too overdone and I want to see something new."

Maybe there isn't anything new anymore. Did you ever think of that? I am of the belief that in our world today originality- and I mean true originality- is dead. Everything's been done by now, by someone in some corner of this world. No matter what you draw, write, or create, someone has done it before and someone will say, "well this reminds of a work by another artist."

Why do I feel like I'm the only person who gets that?

does it make you cooler to like indie bands in lieu of popular ones?

Silence is the loudest sound on earth, I'm convinced. Nothing can give me a worse headache than complete, utter silence. That's why God made iPods. Of course, I'm with classmates. I feel so safe with them, so comfortable. These classmates I've known for long enough that I won't feel judged by them.

Maybe it's the hunger or the chemicals in the dark room, but I'm inebriated enough to sing in front of them, and I do it. I sing along with my iPod because it's just us in the lab. Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship, Cute Is What We Aim For, Plain White T's. I sing with them (I would sing along with Gym Class Heroes, but I'm too white to rap properly).

This guy walks in and I'm still singing and he turns the radio on. Drowning me out? I guess. Maybe he just doesn't like my taste in music. Maybe he's just trying to emit that artsy persona that snooty artists like to exude to make their penises somehow grow (or ovaries, respectively). Let's face it, that's the only reason people play the college radio station...

squeezing me so tight, i need to loosen this belt.

Today I was asked if I write differently online knowing that people read it. Do I omit things? Yes, I know I do. Because there are only so many people I can trust to know my innermost thoughts. It's the control freak in me, I guess.

my jeans is tight so into my love rocket climb

And this entry’s for you. Because I’m hoping that you’re reading it (now that I’ve revealed its existence to the world). And I’m pretty sure that you’re going to think it’s for him but it’s not. It’s for you.

I love you more than I’ll ever verbally admit.

Maybe if you get me drunk enough… but short of that, I’m too guarded- too scared to say it. Because if I say it too much, it’ll fade like an old photograph. Sun stained, wrinkled and forgotten in a box upstairs collecting dust like all the others.

I just hope you know it because I hate myself for thinking like that. Because I know it’s one of my more difficult quirks. Because I know it’s somewhat silly to be afraid of that. Because last time I loved someone this much, it did fade. Everyone says that history repeats itself.

For our sake, I sure hope they’re wrong.

you're the only person i know who eats pizza flavoured chips.

And you swear to God you know exactly what it is that the man of your dreams needs. But did you ever think that it isn't you?

so there's this thing called karma.

It's funny talking to others about beliefs.

Every break means a different train of thought, ok? There are so many...

Someone took time out of their day to etch into the stall that taking a dump always takes forever. I can't help but think that they clearly need more fiber in their diet.

Whenever bad things happen, expect good things because they will always balance out. Unfortunately, worry when too many good things are happening 'cause bad things are just around the corner. It's sort of a double-edged sword, that.

It just struck me how depressed I can actually get over the stupidest things.

I don't know why I don't change the things that need to be changed. It's like I'm scared of something, but I'm not really sure what it is (or if it's even scary). I suppose everyone's like this, because if everyone did the things they needed to do when they needed to be done I'm sure the world would be much different.

the world keeps turning.

I feel a lot less worried right now. I'm glad of it.

I can't wait until November third rolls around.

because we all know that sleep is for the less tortured.

So here I am, up far past what most would consider a normal bedtime. I've got a job interview tomorrow, but they probably won't notice the rings around my eyes thanks to how thick I lay on my eyeliner. Here's hoping I get the job at GameStop, by the way.

I’ve been reading articles all night, trying to learn as much as I can about him. That’s how my obsessions usually start, mind you. I gather as many images and resources of information as humanly possible and attempt to assimilate it all as if I’m the Borg Queen like Brian once dreamed I was. This time, though, I’m noticing a lot of things that, frankly, are more than a little creepy.

Like how he’s got so many things in common with me. Sure, I’m not famous (yet), but I’m somewhat of a celebrity on GreatestJournal… and I have a lot of the same issues being such. It’s interesting. I don’t feel like I’m forcing myself to relate to him. It’s like I’m already like him, like we could totally be bff. Hey T-rex…

I kind of wish he’d be online again when I’m on and that if I get the chance to IM him, he’d respond.

“I’m hopelessly hopeful you’re just hopeless enough.”

Maybe we can strike up a conversation. Be dorks together. I want to transcend that ‘creepy stalker fangirl’ persona I seem to get around people I admire, too. Maybe I’m being hopelessly hopeful, but I want him to know I exist and that I… relate. I want to be at the very least, friends with him. I don’t expect more than that.

It’s not even the fame or the rep. I want to be there for him ‘cause it seems like he needs less groupies and more people who are making an attempt at getting him. Someone he can have a discussion about Star Wars with… or even Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker.

Hell, it’s like even ‘Jackson Bowie’ could be friends with him too after I read about that being his favorite movie. It’s times like these that I wish that there was an address I could write to or an LiveJournal I could friend.

All I have is a blogspot to read, and its current occupation is selling fire in hell and I can't even leave comments in it.

thinking on serious topics at 2 am

“Grandpa died at about midnight,” she said. I’d been expecting it, albeit the reality was somewhat late. She thinks he was waiting for my dad to get there, so that he could die in peace. Who can really say?

It’s funny. When someone you’re not really close to dies, you can see how the world keeps moving without them. It’s so much easier because you’re detached. It’s odd. I feel like a real-life character stuck in something surreal and unsure. I really don’t feel anything. She’s crying on the phone, but she’s trying to hide it. Me? I just sound sleepy and disinterested. Maybe that’s why she’s suppressing her sobs.

I’m glad she finally stopped trying to guilt me. Well, for the time being. I know her, she’ll bring this back up whenever the need to do so arises (and by that, I mean the next time we have a no-holds-barred bitchfit).

Death is something that both scares and intrigues me. I think that’s because we don’t know what happens. Oh, your ministers and priests will say what they will, but they aren’t really sure. No one is. Deep down, I think everyone’s a bit of an agnostic. I mean, wouldn’t you hate to be wrong? I’m somewhat jealous of Gramps because now he knows what’s out there, if it’s a light at the end of a tunnel or nothing at all.

It’s one of those things that I’ll always wonder about, but never really want to get to. Not yet, at least. I’m too (insert adjective here) to die. Though sometimes, it seems like it’d be the easiest solution to all of my problems… but that’s beside the point.

They say death is only the beginning. The beginning of what? Why, the beginning of all unanswered questions.

Silly, just because you have a next life...

& no one knows the truth of the matter anymore.

Sometimes I wish his posts weren't so vague so that I'd know what's going on, but at the same time he has every right to be that way. He can't let just anyone into his heart, after all. No one really should. But now my overactive imagination is wondering things that are probably just me being far too hopeful for something that will never happen at all.

I'm being silly and a child again.

I love how he writes them like he's talking to me individually. Even if it's not me. Perhaps it's her. Or him. I don't know because I'm not inside his head, but it is insane how Donald Duck never wears pants and no one seems to notice.

VIP are the three letters I wish I could have attached to my name. Maybe then I'd have a chance. I keep thinking that, if nothing else, we could be really good friends because his thoughts seem to echo mine.

At this moment in my life, this is something I'll never know for sure.

I'm just a face in the crowd.

can you feel the flames licking at your feet yet?

This is me. I care too much about myself, according to some, because I don't want to let what someone else thinks is "right" run my life.

And since when is "right" the same as "what makes you look good." Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I don't care about "looking good" if it doesn't feel right?

I'm not into doing things out of obligation. So if you think that I have a "duty" to do something for whatever reason and I'm not getting anything out of it at all, then don't expect me to bend over backwards for you.

There's got to be something in it for me.

i guess that means i really do care

I keep saying stupid things like "I don't care" about the whole funeral business, but you know what? I was blasted out of my fairy tale. I do care. Not what my dad's family thinks, but I care about what my mom thinks. Maybe I'll regret this, if worse comes to worse, but right now I'm living for me and I'm going to have fun this weekend.

It'd be better, though, if Gramps kept himself alive long enough.

i'd say i wish i cared, but i really don't want to.

I'm well aware of the fact that I'm one of the most selfish human beings I know. A bit of a hedonist in some respects. I figure that I'm here to live for me, and no one else so I don't care what most people think, much less the family that views me as a circus freak show because they cannot begin to comprehend why I'm the way I am. Though admitting one's selfishness must be, at the least, better than denying it. I know I'm selfish and that I care about myself more than I should, seemingly.

What most don't see is that I am also selfless when the need arises. When it is deserved of me. My friends, my family that I chose. People that understand me and like me the way I am. People that don't love me simply because I'm related to them.

I think that friends, being people that you choose to spend time with and share yourself with, are more important than most family. Especially family that could care less about you when the Yankees are beating the Braves.

And I don't want to go just so my mother looks good to a family that hates her no matter what she does. Maybe her reasoning is that she's trying and that's better than their giving up on her. But when should you stop trying to be something you're not? When can you just accept that you're hated and there's nothing you can do to change the minds of those who hate you? I don't think she knows this, or even thinks along lines such as these.

Maybe I'm being too harsh because there are still things in this world I don't understand at the tender age of twenty-two.

they say that rehab is for quitters.

You swear up and down that you need it. Need it as stress relief, actually. But... maybe there are times when the "stress relief" is actually the cause of the stress. Wondering when you can get your next fix, your body tells you you need it. Withdrawal is pretty extreme in some cases, I can see why rehab is for quitters. Living in the here and the now makes you think that you need it, but if you could just try and think ahead-- to the future where I hope you're past this addiction-- you'll see that you'd be better without it.

it had a very sinister appearance. it had a battery, and wires.

Today on the news they mentioned that the head of Atlanta-based Cartoon Network had resigned after the "Boston terrorism scare" and was now at Home and Garden Television.

Maybe it's a personal opinion because I, myself, am from Atlanta, but I don't think he should have needed to resign over that. Really, it's not his fault that Boston is obviously run by idiots.

as it turns out, this foot in my mouth is very tasty.

Written last night at midnight.

Everyone else always knows what you need.

You need a new toaster, car, television, et cetera. Beyond objects, you need to be saved. Your current beliefs are inferior to mine! Here, let me force mine on you so you can see the light.

What you know, what you’ve been taught is what makes sense. So when you learn something about someone else, or when you stumble upon it, sometimes those predisposed notions come back to haunt you. Forget the clever joke dad made when he pointed out that the Spanish word for “witnesses” (testigos) sounds and looks a lot like “testicles.”

I wonder if I made a face when I was talking about those papers that Jehovah’s Witnesses pass out, door to door. It didn’t dawn on me and she might be one. She’d spoken to me about not celebrating Halloween but I just assumed that since they have a mile-long driveway, it’d be hard to go Trick-or-Treating.

I never made the connection that the only reason they had those papers in the house was because that was her faith, speaking of the mile-long driveway.

In a sense, I wonder if that’s part of the reason they live so far into the woods. So other Witnesses don’t bother them? That’s probably a silly train of thought.

But now I feel like the biggest douche bag for even making the comment, for even letting the thought cross my mind. And it wasn’t so much the thought, I was just making a statement that those papers they hand out have a certain look to them that I’ve grown to recognise.

And now, my Catholic upbringing is making me feel guilty for something that probably shouldn’t be making me feel this bad. I didn’t know, they’re pretty hush-hush about their private lives. She has no reason to be mad at me, but I can’t help but think that my wording and my inability to stop talking about Jehovah’s Witnesses as I desperately tried to save myself (but inadvertently continued to plummet) made things worse. Maybe she sees me differently now, though she probably doesn’t.

I wonder if she’s lying awake right now, thinking about this.

there's gold at the end of the rainbow, promise.

Well, today the sun shone brighter than it has in a few days. I believe in signs, and I believe that the powers that be talk to me with them. It'd be far too simple for God (or Goddess, whichever you prefer) to just talk. They have to do it through signs or through people because most of us just won't listen any other way. Not in this day and age, anyhow. But I know there are signs out there, waiting for me to read them. And I know the importance of realising that even the most mundane things, like a little sunshine, can be a sign.

I think things are looking up. I suppose we'll see.

& i just don't know where this'll get me.

Do I want to find out? Is it worth it? I consulted my most trusted advisors, my therapists pumping through my speakers delivering just what I need. Because, even if it's not a sophomore slump, it's definitely not worthy of being called the comeback of the year. Not yet, anyway. I'm sick of a lot of things, but I consulted them and they told me (in their own way) that I shouldn't do anything rash. I shouldn't do anything stupid, and granted this is my own interpretation of their words, for I am my own oracle, last time I did this it was frighteningly accurate and I'm going to listen to them.

The know me, and they know my situation even if they don't know me really.

And... I trust them. I trust his words.

oh, but it won't matter, you don't matter.

Reading his thoughts and forming my own. I only admire him more. It's like I'm getting a VIP pass to his mind and I'm understanding the man behind the bass. It's not even about his sex appeal or his looks or how I love the dorky videos that are out there, floating on the information superhighway-- but those are certainly a bonus. It's because he's human, just like me. It's because it seems like he knows me and what I've been through, even though we've never met. And that's the part that worries me, because now I feel like a stalker. It's because I want to meet him, like Misa wanted to meet Kira.

He's my hero.

it's hard to imagine

Maybe it's childish, but I want him to notice me. I came here because he's here and even though it's a one in a billion chance he'll ever see this little bit of cyberspace, I still want that chance.

I'm such a child.

'ello luv.

First time trying this site. Here goes nothing.