I fell asleep twelve hours ago, woke up again in half that time.
My heart is overflowing but I'm only just acknowledging it, only just realizing that I ran away but you came with me, stopped me and made me listen.
I'm watching this crescent of a moon rise outside my window, this smile in the sky, and I'm smiling too.
I don't know what the stars mean.
I don't care as long as you're here to share them with me.
Hey.
I'm not really sure why I'm writing this now, I have a lot of things I need to do. It's probably because I was facebook stalking you earlier. Whoops. My bad.
So I don't know what I did. And it really bugs me. I say it doesn't, but it eats at me, and I need to know. I'm tempted to apologize, but there's no way I'm apologizing for something if I don't even know what I did that was wrong. If anything.
I know this is silly, as little time as I spent with you, but I miss you. Not that aching sort of miss that I'm all too familiar with now; you don't merit that. But I'll think about it sometimes when I spot you, think about a conversation we had, or a movie you said we'd watch, or a comic I need to give you, and it just digs at me. Because it's stupid. This silence is stupid. What are you playing at here?
Whatever. You're not even my priority anymore. Though I really don't think you ever were. But you don't need to know that.
I just have to know what happened.
Poptart picnic on the floor of my dorm room, eight pages of essay printed, listening to this song on repeat, thinking of the sunrise three hours behind. Good morning.
Read more...She hangs up the phone with resignation and the false smile still pasted over aching lips.
Of course everything would be all right. Wouldn't it? It had to be.
"No, darling, they won't lock you up."
"No, darling, you're not crazy."
"Talk to your doctor. It'll be fine."
What she longs for the most is to say, "I'm scared. I don't understand."
What she longs for the most is to be held and for the trouble to seep quietly away, out of her body and into the ground, cleansed by fire and kisses.
She can't.
Fall's slanting golden light and thinly pure air is no match for dark circles cradling tired eyes.
But it can try. She would welcome that.
- Survive
- Get all my homework done
- Not get addicted to caffeine
- Talk to you as much as I can (Not nearly enough.)
- Figure out what's up with him ("Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.")
- Make a new friend
- Take more pictures
- Watch the sunrise again (Not this week, but it will happen.)
- Survive
- Get all my homework done
- Not get addicted to caffeine
- Talk to you as much as I can
- Figure out what's up with him
- Make a new friend
- Take more pictures
- Watch the sunrise again
(The following is a rant.)
Okay. I text too much. I'll be one of the first people to tell you that. And I understand that people don't text as much as me, that it takes a while to reply to something I may send you, that you might be in class, or at work, or your phone might be off, or your fingers just aren't working, or you're anti-social. Whatever. I get it. I'm not going to get an instantaneous reply. Just as long as I get something back in an acceptable amount of time.
Now, don't ask me to define 'acceptable', because it really depends on the nature of the conversation and who I happen to be talking to. However. I will tell you what is unacceptable: Me asking 'Are you busy today?' around 11:30 this morning and now, over eight hours later, still without a response.
Honestly, this is like the rudest thing ever. And it makes me paranoid and thinking all sorts of things on the insecure end of the spectrum. The question remains: Are you going to excuse this? And the answer from me is a definite 'absolutely'.
But why, Cassandra? Well, that's for another time.
...Maybe I scared him off.
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