Sunday, April 25
Monday, March 29
Those Girly Emotions
I think I might like someone.
Certainly, I find myself feeling like I do. That same warphole I keep falling in despite the fact that I know it always ends in an obliterated soul. I want close the pages now, I've read this book before. Yet I cannot, and even if I could I can't deny this is good for me.
He's not Nathan.
Within 24 hours of meeting him on a one-on-one basis, all thoughts of the man who I had been pathetically pining over for the greater portion of a year more or less was washed away. I had been surviving, now it seems as if that part of my life is ancient history. I know it was an accident, a fluke. He has absolutely no idea that he's affected me in such a way.
I'm not sad, I'm not angry, and I most certainly do not feel as if my romantic life is over. Yes, Nathan did hurt me. I am still offended and still wish he would have at least stayed friends instead of what he chose instead, but for the most part I'm over it. I'm happy.
So how could I not like the person who quite accidentally changed the quality of my life? So strange that as soon as I decide to swing the other way, giving up on men (after trying to move on first!), I find someone I like.
Of course this is hardly a happy ending. This guy will not be around long, and quite honestly I'm too afraid of being rejected not only romantically but as even someone to be around, with due reason NATHAN and KELTON, too emotionally scarred and scared in order to just place my bets and put the cards on the table. Despite the fact that this guy seems quite wonderful from the limited time I've spent from him, he made me realize something.
He's not Nathan.
Within 24 hours of meeting him on a one-on-one basis, all thoughts of the man who I had been pathetically pining over for the greater portion of a year more or less was washed away. I had been surviving, now it seems as if that part of my life is ancient history. I know it was an accident, a fluke. He has absolutely no idea that he's affected me in such a way.
I'm not sad, I'm not angry, and I most certainly do not feel as if my romantic life is over. Yes, Nathan did hurt me. I am still offended and still wish he would have at least stayed friends instead of what he chose instead, but for the most part I'm over it. I'm happy.
So how could I not like the person who quite accidentally changed the quality of my life? So strange that as soon as I decide to swing the other way, giving up on men (after trying to move on first!), I find someone I like.
Of course this is hardly a happy ending. This guy will not be around long, and quite honestly I'm too afraid of being rejected not only romantically but as even someone to be around, with due reason NATHAN and KELTON, too emotionally scarred and scared in order to just place my bets and put the cards on the table. Despite the fact that this guy seems quite wonderful from the limited time I've spent from him, he made me realize something.
There really is more fish in the sea.
I'm going to regret it if I don't tell the guy I like him, if I leave things unsaid, but I just can not be sure that I am ready for a relationship yet, especially if I'm not ready and then I chance it only to get dejected and ridiculed again. Everyone is telling me it's best to try, but I can't be sure. I know it's probably usually the right course, but... I'm afraid.
I am so goddamn afraid of rejection, of isolation, of being tormented by unrequited love.
What do I do?
I wish I had a god to pray to...
I am so goddamn afraid of rejection, of isolation, of being tormented by unrequited love.
What do I do?
I wish I had a god to pray to...
Saturday, January 23
Shattered Glass
I have one tiny bit of glass stuck in each foot. This requires me to wear shoes constantly, as pain will shoot up my entire body at times when walking otherwise. As such, I've been wearing my flip flops a lot lately.
Part of me wonders if this will always be so, because glass is not something that will soften like thorns in your skin. Another segment of my head goes to wondering if it's healthy to just go ignoring a foreign object beneath my epidermis. Most of me, however, doesn't really care. What will happen will happen, and it's not like I didn't try to tweeze it out (impossible since it's tiny, see through, and my vision is horrible), wash it out, and suction out when it happened. I tried, I failed.
And, honestly, it doesn't bother me.
Though the times when it does strike me with unexpected pain, I half wish that it meant something. That it was a reminder of anything but that I did a crappy job sweeping up broken glass, in which I had no dustpan. A wound should be one of personal war, not of lacking proper equipment and living on a textured floor.
It's times like this when I realize just how stoic I am, and therefor boring.
Part of me wonders if this will always be so, because glass is not something that will soften like thorns in your skin. Another segment of my head goes to wondering if it's healthy to just go ignoring a foreign object beneath my epidermis. Most of me, however, doesn't really care. What will happen will happen, and it's not like I didn't try to tweeze it out (impossible since it's tiny, see through, and my vision is horrible), wash it out, and suction out when it happened. I tried, I failed.
And, honestly, it doesn't bother me.
Though the times when it does strike me with unexpected pain, I half wish that it meant something. That it was a reminder of anything but that I did a crappy job sweeping up broken glass, in which I had no dustpan. A wound should be one of personal war, not of lacking proper equipment and living on a textured floor.
It's times like this when I realize just how stoic I am, and therefor boring.
Friday, January 22
A Child Alone
The following is based on fiction, it takes place in the point of view of an original character named Ambrose and is copyright to me in all ways, shapes, && forms.
The clock across the room from me seemed to only make a ticking sound, lacking the tock altogether. I had thought about it before, but not directly like this. After all, across from me stood the first man to dare get this far into my household, and in my eyes he was on a time limit.
He was a large, intimidating man. At least he would be if I feared anything human. I could outrun him, I am sure, since his height was not the only thing oversized about him. He was bald and later I would wonder if he did it to cover up balding or if it was a style choice. The important thing now, however, is that except for our gender, we were polar opposites.
For one, I was ten.
He was trying to get me to invest in his company, a worthwhile opportunity to expanse my already unbelievable sum of money. I did not believe in him, however, because who asks a ten year old for money unless it is to con them?
This meant the rumors about me being the hand at my parents death was declining, that it was losing potency. They would be coming in hordes, unaware that my answer would always be the same.
"No, I do not think so. After all, I do not need to invest. My money can care for me until I die." I do not bother to add that I suspect that will not be long from now in the grand scheme of things.
I had expected his next spiel, about how someday I would have a wife to pay a dowry for, children to put through school, servants wages are simply going up. I do not bother to say I had no interest in wives or children, because I had not yet hit puberty yet and obviously until then the belief that I would grow out of it would stay firmly in place to adult minds.
I hate adults.
I tap my fingers cruelly and he leaves. He shows himself down the corridor, down the stairs, and out the door and I have not the slightest care if he steals something. I have no material attachment, in fact, I have no attachments at all, and as soon as he leaves my mansion on the hill I will be alone again. My solace echos throughout my own richly decorated, dusty halls.
It is me, my fire, and my loneliness all by ourselves. In fact, it is only me. I am the only person in this mansion. I am also the only person in the world, as far as I am concerned.
Being alone is not fun, but it is freedom.
The clock across the room from me seemed to only make a ticking sound, lacking the tock altogether. I had thought about it before, but not directly like this. After all, across from me stood the first man to dare get this far into my household, and in my eyes he was on a time limit.
He was a large, intimidating man. At least he would be if I feared anything human. I could outrun him, I am sure, since his height was not the only thing oversized about him. He was bald and later I would wonder if he did it to cover up balding or if it was a style choice. The important thing now, however, is that except for our gender, we were polar opposites.
For one, I was ten.
He was trying to get me to invest in his company, a worthwhile opportunity to expanse my already unbelievable sum of money. I did not believe in him, however, because who asks a ten year old for money unless it is to con them?
This meant the rumors about me being the hand at my parents death was declining, that it was losing potency. They would be coming in hordes, unaware that my answer would always be the same.
"No, I do not think so. After all, I do not need to invest. My money can care for me until I die." I do not bother to add that I suspect that will not be long from now in the grand scheme of things.
I had expected his next spiel, about how someday I would have a wife to pay a dowry for, children to put through school, servants wages are simply going up. I do not bother to say I had no interest in wives or children, because I had not yet hit puberty yet and obviously until then the belief that I would grow out of it would stay firmly in place to adult minds.
I hate adults.
I tap my fingers cruelly and he leaves. He shows himself down the corridor, down the stairs, and out the door and I have not the slightest care if he steals something. I have no material attachment, in fact, I have no attachments at all, and as soon as he leaves my mansion on the hill I will be alone again. My solace echos throughout my own richly decorated, dusty halls.
It is me, my fire, and my loneliness all by ourselves. In fact, it is only me. I am the only person in this mansion. I am also the only person in the world, as far as I am concerned.
Being alone is not fun, but it is freedom.
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