It Girl

“...then I’ll see you again one day”

“One day, maybe.”

There’s something so tragic about how you could come into our lives for just a moment, make us care about you, and then step right back out.

I don’t even know you, and I don’t want you to go.

Don’t you think things happen for a reason? Don’t you think I met you for a reason? What if that reason, was for me to know you, and for you to know me, and now I’ll never get a chance to know you, now isn’t that a tragedy.

Now you’re the symbol of so many possibilities, it fairly breaks my heart.

I guess it wasn’t meant to be, but you told me a secret, so don’t it feel like it should be?

Lets trust each other, just for today, and then you’ll go back to far away, and we probably won’t speak again, or meet again, but at least we had those few conversations, built on nightingale wings.

"I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told..."

Don't spend time doing anything you aren't passionate about.

Tokens

“She smells of horoscopes”

Let’s overanalyze.

Let’s self-destruct.

You can be my cardboard mother. You can be my cardboard friend. You can be my cardboard obsession. You can be my cardboard Erik.
You got caught in the rain I think. And even though you weren’t cardboard, you disintegrated, and now I’m staring at the pavement where you were, and I’m pretty sure you’re somewhere else.

You aren’t going to get off the train, are you?

How much is autobiographical?

I’ll be like Edmund. Only I’m wiser: I don’t believe in God.

“We aren’t friends anymore. Not in a bad way. Just in a real way.”

I can hear your voice.
Are you stupid or am I?

Maybe we’re growing up.

I imagine the epitome of my self-destruction is powerful, and explosive; a visual masterpiece. You would smell the burning rubber from my spontaneous combustion, and it would be lip-bitingly delicious.

People say it’s just an action, but actions don’t happen in a vacuum, they’ve got to be informed by emotions. 

And emotions are informed by actions too.

It’s not love. Or like. But there’s got to be a motivation. And then a reaction.  

How many ways can I jump off a building? I can trip, slip, feet-first, head-first, swan dive. You could push me. Will you push me? Then I can pretend that there’s someone else to blame.

Max and Lorelai.

Put your arm around me?

I can see the benefit of the cigarette.

I’m starving.

my love will last as long as the hickey lasts

It’s almost expired.

January 16th.

That’s when the milk expires. 

Sustaining normality will only last for so long. I can already see cracks in the foundation. 

Fuck. I’ll try to hold in the Awkward, but just like Good, it’ll find it’s way to the top. Awkward will always trump Perfect Pleasantries, and Good will always trump Evil.

That’s what Newton said anyway.

That’s all I really got from physics class, and it isn’t even right. It isn't even right.

I won’t talk about you. I won’t.

I won’t sit by you, or think about you, or pay any attention to you.

Don’t take this personally - or maybe do.

My friend told me a story about a carton of milk named Fred.

She got attached to Fred. But then he expired, so she had to throw him away.

That’s why I don’t name cartons of milk.

Some people can roll with life, and spoiled milk, and Awkward’s triumph. But the last time I had spoiled milk I projectile vomited all over the car.

... I'll never admit it aloud, but I secretly wish you'd waited for me.

Cigerettes

There was this girl, and she had to be the best at everything. If she wasn’t the best, at something, she didn’t want to do it at all.

She gave up a lot.

It’s easier to give up and self-indulge in the pain of imagining what you could have been if only you had tried, than to try and try and try until your knuckles bleed, and sweat pastes you hair to your head, only to find out you weren’t worth shit.

It’s easier to live in dreams and could-have-beens.

No failure, only evaporated potential.

“When you bite your lip it makes me want to fuck you”

What is this “real life” you all speak of? I don’t know what real life is. You can sit in class and watch The Little Mermaid, when you’re six, when you’re twenty-five. 

The only real people that I know ride the bus. They don’t smile. They have to stand, and walk, and bend, and shift. Like real life. Like how I was told real life would be.

Th only real people that I know are in construction. They bend, and lift, and breath hard, breath deep. 

They don’t think about things that don’t matter,they don’t dream about things that won’t be. They just live, and it’s real, and beautiful.

There was this girl, and she was afraid of everything. Of boys, and girls, and love, and sex, and getting lost, and looking foolish, and failing, and succeeding past the point of there being someone to follow. She was afraid of standing out and blending in, and hugs, and kisses, and long books, and scary movies, and real life, and change.

So she gave up.

On one thing after another.

She’ll try not to give up on you, but don’t hold her to anything.

She spends her days playing pretend. (It’s sort of like giving up) 

Hydrangeas and heels.

With those, you’re someone braver and greater and more worthy.

Validate the Ordinary.