This is very long and sometimes hard to follow.
It knocks on the door when nobody's home, and it works on Sundays when it's supposed to go to church; and, the only reason it doesn't go is that upsetting God is a pleasant thought. It takes me all day to figure out where it went, and it takes me two seconds to realize I wish it were gone again, and everyone else seems to think it's a permanent tattoo on myself.
It's like those screwed up smiles, the fake sort you give to the person who you're not particularily fond of but are nice to anyways (The oh-so-famous Step-mother or Ex-wife is a popular candidate for this). Have you ever been in love? Have you loved?
They're different. Sometimes, we are impatient. Sometimes, we forget that the difference between the rain and the mist, the laugh and the cry, sleeping and death.
We are a race of curiosity, of wondering and sitting on damp grass that soaks jeans, of staring up at stars and wondering what's out there. We are of loving, and of hating, and of pursuing the ability to fit in. The life we live is a contradiction, one to stand out and yet to blend in. We are a middle-class, thinking, often forgetful collection of screw-ups, psychopaths, and quite often, drooling idiots who spout ignorant themes to hate, destroy, and to better themselves (if only in their mind).
We are unhappy.
And I fail to see why.
To think that we have a tough life is laughable. Have we not the most luxurious life, have we not endless supplies of food, have we not a warm bed and a roof over our heads (Think of sleeping in the rain, with cold winds whipping your blankets, IF you even have any, constantly away) and we have family.
To complain, to worry, about mere things that are so simply fixed is just a joke, to me.
And yet I do it. We all do. It's sad, we've lived for so long we don't value our lives. We don't value our friends. We don't love anymore. Is it so embarrassing, so wrong, to say you love a friend? Is it so hard to mean it, too?
The window is open, you see, and the sun is gone and the sky is dark and I'm afraid. The thoughts have come, and my eyes are closed, and I drown in the whirlpool that is my thoughts and suddenly my eyes are open again. How did that happen?
I can't sleep.
I can't sleep at night anymore so I stay up drawing, or thinking. There is something wrong, I keep losing friends. Each hour that passes I fear that I'll say something wrong, and the few remaining friends I have will suddenly explode and leave.
...Is it me?
I think, and I think hard. Every inch of me is screaming out "No, it's not, you didn't do anything wrong!"
But the cold, undeniable fact must be that it is, in fact, me, for why else would I be so utterly stuck between the people who call themselves my friends?
I wish, I could make a man out of gingerbread and he'd be my friend and we'd have so much fun and I'd never be lonely. But he'd just run away from me anyways, right?
I've lacked the words to write lately, lacked the passion. I've started this and ended this so many times it's laughable. I stayed up writing this. Yet, it's so condensed compared to what I thought it'd be like. Nonetheless, it's not the words you say, it's that you say them that makes you feel better.
...I'm happy lately, but afraid. Very afraid. I cling to the pillows at night, wrap myself in blankets and when I toss and turn I have to open my eyes, to make sure nothing's in my room. I've never been more afraid of the dark. I don't know what I think is out to get me.
This is one big whine-fest journal isn't it?
I wish I had someone to really be my best friend, and hang out with me all the time. I wish I didn't argue so much. I think everyone's so sensitive lately, but is it me? Am I just an utter prick because I tease people?
I hear their voices, in my mind, and yet it's silent. I guess it's more like I feel what they said. I believe it was Magic Fantastic that said the first thing you forget about someone is their voice. I'll agree with that.
It's hard, to remember things sometimes. Especially those that have loved you before.
I remember that one day when I was feeling sick, and you tucked me into your bed, and I remember the feeling as you swept my hair off of my face and leaned down and you kissed my forehead. I always loved that. It made me feel like a child, in the happy and warm-butterflies way. I remember alot of feeling like a child with you. Maybe that's what I loved.
Everyone else expects me to be grown up.
Maybe I don't want to grow up. I want to grow older with someone who'll let me stay a kid, who doesn't care if I listen to my strange music and sing along terribly, or stay up late drawing silly pictures to make you smile. I want someone to lean on my shoulder while I watch movies and to hold my hand because they want to, not because it's a couples thing. I want someone who'll eat my cooking, even if it's bad, and ask for seconds; I want someone to take to a beach while it's raining and bring them home to a warm couch for snuggles, hot chocolate, and Disney movies.
Most of all, I want to find someone, anybody, who doesn't believe that compliments are a requirement. Once you find out how special words of emotion can be when they're spoken sparsely, all of a sudden "You ARE pretty!" can make your world spin on it's axis suddenly. People don't feel that anymore. They look for requirements- Oh, Jimmy writes his girlfriend poems, Andrew isn't embarrassed with his girlfriend in public. Why can't you do that?- sort of stuff. It's shocking, I was there once.
But we learn, we grow, we walk on to bigger and greater things.
You don't see me cry. I don't tell you. I wish I could, but when I go to tell you, I say something like "I have a headache" because I don't want you to think I'm depressing.
But it's ok. You make me laugh anyways, and in a few minutes, I forget why I was sad in the first place...
I learned this summer, not what love is... I learned what it's not.