old habits die hard when you got a sentimental heart
some things need to change, that’s for sure.
carpe diem. carpe noctem. carpe momentum. I’m 19. fuck, I’m nineteen years old. I am young, the night is young, the world is young. everything is still new and beautiful and dangerously tempting.
chasing after that adrenaline, always on the precipice, everything tastes like the first time. isn’t that the beauty of being young? isn’t this the beauty of mortality? i just want to live, i just want to know. don’t stop, can’t stop.
whoa, slow down. too fast, too furious. what the fuck have i gotten myself into? this isn’t what i want, this isn’t what i need. this isn’t how i wanted things to happen. i’ve been stomping around blindly and i think i’ve broken one too many vases. you know, the really pretty, kind of irreplaceable ones. the ones that your parents would be mad about for not taking care of, the ones that make your stomach drop in panic when you realize its shattered. and somewhere along the way, someone stomped on a part of me. “like an aluminum can”. i need to get a stick and poke everything back into place. as for the broken ceramics, well they’re never going to be the same.
i’ll be fine, i’ll be good.
i hate going to trying to sleep. i hate you on my mind, i hate covering my face in class because i keep replaying what happened.
—>but i wouldn’t have it any other way, you know? because as terrifying and permanently scarring (think fossilized like a leaf on a stone) as all of this is, i’m glad to have learned it sooner rather than later. glad to have known what the limits were. no more broken vases.
Well, here i am: feverish, bleeding, and my head is throbbing like mad.
Great time for a new post! =)
Ever wonder why you always feel so grown up, no matter how young you are? I was recently looking through old pictures of ex boyfriends and me (nothing sentimental, promise) and I just remember feeling like it was completely normal to be 13-14 years old, and be in a “serious” relationship. HAHA. then I thought about all the emotional hell i went through and all those endless nights on the phone and having our parents drive us to the movies and late-night aim conversations and….hell, i think i fell in love for the first time when i was 14. damn, that’ll always leave a mark. But aside from that, wtf are children these days (me included) thinking? is it so enticing to have highschool—MIDDLE SCHOOL sweethearts? i guess it was—at least for me. Funny thing, isnt it? i can look at these freshmen in highschool and be like “OMG you guys are BABIES. MOTHER FUCKING BABIES. you shouldn’t even know what a penis is!!!!”
About a year ago, one of my bestfriends told me she had seen one of the kids i had been semi-romantically involved with back in…..7th grade. Anyhow, our middle school split into two different highschools, and it was really sad/traumatic/yadda yadda/bullshit. She said that he asked how I was doing, and when she told him I was up to my usual shenanigans. he responded by sighing, shaking his head and saying “Man, you know…she really messed me up back then”
Okay. 7th grade. okay.
But I guess everything is subjective, right? Whatever floats your boat dude.
So if you love me baby this is how you let me know. Don’t ever let me go, thats how you let me know, baby.
Well this is a feeling that I think i forgot how to feel. at least for a while.
10:15pm—> MIT frat boy stands on truck with a camera, with a sort of cute geeky charm. maybe its the alcohol, maybe not. i walk up to him. “you’re cute”
hell if i remember your face by the end of the night
10:25pm—>bored, and drunk off my ass. tongue tied. literally. you’re the kind of friend that i know won’t take this the wrong way
hope you know i’m not staying around for long
11:00pm—>pinned against the wall. hey drunk boy, i still don’t want you. let me go already. i don’t want to be too mean, get off get off. stop grabbing my face, get away.
i don’t like you
12:15am—>”hey, wanna dance?” boys. pulling my wrists, in my face, too close for comfort. where the hell are my friends? i can’t see a blasted thing on this damn roof except the boston city lights. there’s girls dancing on tables and frat boys waving their shirts like helicopters.
12:45am—>hello cute camera boy from earlier, can i get a kiss? its a rooftop, it’s a party, i’m drunk and you’re probably more appealing in the dark
1:10am—>arms around me, pounding music, that faint metallic taste in my mouth. whoa, where did everyone else go? whaa…oh who cares. “you should stay for the afterparty”..”are you going to remember me in the morning?”
damn, you feel familiar.
1:50am—>god time flies. party’s over, the stairs are mad packed with sweaty bodies. where’s my bestie? throwing up? shitdamn. find her on the couch surrounded my other friends, help her down the stairs. stumble stumble. on the plus side, cute frat boy is still in tow.
i should workout
10:56am—>morning already? date time with the “smarty from hahhhvahhd” as the security guard that signs us in drawls. flowers? for me? you shouldn’t have.
There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other’s names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name. Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies. Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone. I would cross seas and suffer sunstroke and give away all I have, but not for a man, because they want to be the destroyer and never be destroyed. That is why they are unfit for romantic love. There are exceptions and I hope they are happy.