Chapter 38: Best Friend

They tell us we can go upstairs, so we do. We race each other up the stairs, glad for an excuse to get away from the monotonous drone of the adults. We find a movie we can watch and turn the lights off. Our faces are illuminated by the screen, and I can hear him breathing beside me. It's very occasionally that he can come over to my house, but when he does, our parents take forever to catch up. We could be up here for hours and hours before they finally call us to go. I sit beside him, our backs against the bed. I put my shoulder under his, and feel his bicep press against me. I can feel his muscles ripple as he shifts for a more comfortable position beside me. I move my leg nonchalantly along his, and place my foot underneath his outstretched leg. The prolonged touch causes him to look at me, but the darkness of the room covers any hints from my expression. I let his hand rest beside him, his fingers uncurled and open beside him: an invitation. I don't take it. If I do, it'll be consent. It'll be a commitment. The hands are first, I think, then the heart. I can't risk either. But I can't help but imagine when he feels like. And I give in to the urge. I take his fingers in mine. Slowly, I snake my fingertips down his wrist and let them between his fingers. His eyes concentrate on the movie, but his hand reacts to me, twitching closed around mine. The warmth of his hand is surprising to my cold fingers and I blink in surprise as my heart beats louder. I stand up suddenly, then sit down on his lap facing him, one leg around either side of him. He starts to speak but I stop him with a hand over his mouth. I unlock my fingers from his, and find my way to his chest. I can feel the rapid beating of his heartbeat, as well as the catch in his breathing as I make contact with his torso. I run my fingers down his torso, tracing the curve of his muscles and their firm lines. His hands shift to around my waist and pull me closer to him. He wraps me in an embrace that almost pushes all the air out of me. He whispers in my ear: I've wanted you for so long. You have no idea how long I've waited for this. I can't breathe. I don't know if this is my heart resonating through my body so loudly, or if it's his. I whisper back to him, so softly that even I can't be sure if I hear: I love you.

Chapter 37: Addicted to heartbreak

I'll only tell you
I love you
When I'm certain that you'll turn me down
When I'm sure you'll feel nothing in return
When I can be sure of when I'll hurt
And not be taken off guard
When you break my heart.

I think I'm afraid of commitment.
I'll only hold your hand
In the dark
Where we can't be exposed
And when the lights turn back on
We can pretend it never happened
And I won't have to say it
Was anything other than a mistake.

I'll only hold you close
In my dreams
Where you're mine and you know it
Where there isn't anything keeping us apart
And where, when I wake up,
You won't know why
My heart is broken.

Chapter 36: A teenage kiss

We're alone in his room. This was a bad decision. Something's going I happen that I'll probably regret. He's sitting close to me, and I eye him warily. He turns and looks at me, puts his hand on mine. I was right, something's going to happen. I don't know what to do. His eyes are clouded with lust and purpose. They burn a deep, deep chocolate, and his cheeks are a bit flushed. He's only a moment away. I can feel his breath on my skin. It's hot and almost feverish, and burns my neck and lips. I close my eyes. As much as I don't want something like this to progress between us, I can't help imagine what it would be like. I let him place his lips on mine, and feel the damp lips hot against mine. He moves his hand from mine and drags it to my shoulder. The other he places on my neck, securing my lips against his as if he can read my mind. I pull back and detach his mouth from mine. His lips don't stop. They move along my face, creating a tingling trail from my cheeks, along my jawline, down my neck. He suckles my collar bone, then moves back up to the side of my neck, below my ear. His hands are at my waist, and I raise my hands to touch him, too. I feel his back, trace his spine, then bring my fingers to the front and feel the firmness of his chest. I reach one hand up to the nape of his neck, and stroke it, as he makes his way back up to my mouth. His lips beg entrance and I let him in, and explore with my tongue his teeth, his tongue. I feel him smile. I push him off of me, and look away.

Chapter 35: Your Body

I love you for your body.
I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but I love your for your physical self.
I've fallen for your warmth. I'm head over heels for the heat your arms emanate; I can feel them calling to me when I'm inches away from your skin.
I've fallen your your build. I love the slope of your shoulders, the width of your back.
My lips want to taste the hollows and nape of your neck.
My lungs want to breathe the air tainted with your subtle scent.
My waist wants to be enveloped by your hands; my fingers yearn to touch your twists and turns.
I love you for your body, and for the way you make mine feel.

Chapter 34: Sorry I'm such a sociopath

It's about how you feel about me.
Not that I'm rejecting you, but
I just wanted to let you know that
I'm well aware of how you've felt about me
since I was in the seventh  grade
and that I've had plenty of time to think about it.

It's about how I feel about you.
Not that I'm confessing, but I've felt the same
about you as you feel about me
at some point, and I guess if there weren't all these things
in the way, I'd act on my feelings.
I mean, not that I'm confessing.

I think what I've meant to say is that
maybe I don't know what to feel.
Or how this should feel.
I mean, what should love feel like?
If it's enough that you're different to me
than other guys...then I guess that's how I feel.

But hey. If you told me how you feel
about me, I'd reject you. And if you asked me
how I feel about you, I'd tell you
that I can't. So don't. I don't want things to change
so don't give them reason to change.
Please. Sorry I'm such a sociopath.

Chapter 33: Moving On

Moving on
I mean, at least you are
From the way you're treating me
Nowadays

Even my ex
doesn't avoid me as much as you do
And I guess
The silent treatment is supposed to mean
Something
Or is supposed to make me react
In a certain way.
But you'll never know
(haha)
Because you don't have my blog
(But a few strangers will)

I just hope you don't
Forget me
And make us like
Strangers again
Because that happens way too often
When people
Move on.

Chapter 32: Reality

Liar
You don't love me
Even more than you love
A lamp
Glancing at me
Once in a while
Does nothing to show your
Affections
Making small talk
And making things awkward
Conveys no feelings
At all.

Chapter 31: Like you used to

You have no idea how I wish things were the same again.
But I know they'll never be because
You don't love me like you used to.
And all those times I'd wished for some kind of reconciliation,
Something to possible stitch us back up together,
Something you do or say reminds me that it would be impossible.
I know you don't love me like you used to.
But my dreams have not changed
And my heart still needs to get used to not beating so fast when you're near.
You don't love me like you used to, I know.
But I still love you.

Whatever you guys

Whatever rifraff reads this blog, I don't need you to

vote at the very bottom

on what I should write. I can write about things that happen to me all on my own.
Especially with the great inspiration I have in my "love life"
which we all know isn't a love life at all, but merely
a figment of my imagination
a fantasy about people who probably don't feel the same
and aren't even thinking about me that this very second
wait sorry you guys.
This post wasn't supposed to get so angsty. ok bye.

Chapter 30: On the bus ride home.

Sleeping on his shoulder was like a sleeping on a pillow, I said.
He was extremely soft and molded into my shape effortlessly.
Sleeping on another's shoulder was like an electric blanket, I said.
He was warm and caring, protective like a blanket makes you feel.

I told you this, and you asked me what you were.
What sleeping on your shoulder felt like.
I couldn't tell you.
I couldn't explain to you that you were just as warm,
just as protective, just as comfortable.
I wouldn't tell you that your body felt so made for mine,
as if we were two puzzle pieces what had
Just found the other piece.
I couldn't place you as one thing because
If I told you that you were perfect
that you were like nothing else, you would have known.
You would have been able to guess
that I loved you.

And that would have just been kind of awkward.

Chapter 29: The problem with "fed up nice guys"

I'm tired.
I'm tired of how you just think everything revolves around you. I am trying so hard to just be friends with you at this point, that I'm beginning to wonder if all this energy spent on you is even worth it.
You see, when things used to be just effortless, when we would gravitate towards each other simply because it was comfortable to be near one another, I would have, without skipping a beat, confirmed that we were friends. More than friends, even, more like family. But that wasn't what you wanted was it? Was any of this even worth it for you, then? Was being my friend worth all those nights spent wishing you could have me? And is this, ignoring me, is this what you do when you don't get what you can't have?
Thanks. It really makes me feel better to know that apparently you didn't value me enough to think of me as a good friend. When for me, a good friend is so hard to find. I could have spent my whole life with you as one of the most important people in my life.
I probably sound really stuck up and full of it right now, but I just feel like, if you can't stay my friend when things get hard, how can I even consider you as someone I'd want to keep around and rely on in my life? How can you expect to be anything more than just an acquaintance when you skip out on me at the first sign of discomfort?
A good relationship starts with a good friendship, yes? Things get in the way and things happen, but a good friend sticks around and makes things worth it. And when we experience these things together, that's when the trust forms. And that's where the relationship forms.
But I guess I wasn't worth it. So I'm tired of pretending you are.

Notification: a new blog will be opening soon :)) (September 10)

http://williamandamelia.blogspot.com
if you're interested. It'll be a sort of romance fiction, and between two people named Will and Amy.

I'll continue posting on this blog, however. I just need interesting things to happen to me.
PLEASE COMMENT AND VOTE BELOW :O

(Just to clarify something)

If you haven't already picked it up, I'm writing about two different people:

1) the person I refer to in "Noah" and "The Beginning of the End"

2) the person in "the train ride" and "why I love piano so much" (or whatever that one's called)

One has liked me for two years, one I have liked for two years. They both have December birthdays and very similar personalities, although one is younger than I am, and one is older. 

I'm sorry if you got confused or concerned about my topsy turvy love life or whatever :P 

Just a notification :)

THE NEW RULE IS THAT IF YOU READ IT, YOU HAVE TO COMMENT OR SOMETHING

you read it, you comment >;T

P.S. there's a poll at the bottom of the blog, if you're too lazy to write anything to me );
ok, sorry, I fixed it (edit)

Chapter 28: Something smutty

She stands, immobile, as he closes his eyes and moves in towards her. There is no hesitation as his lips meet hers, crashing excitedly into her teeth. Her eyes are open, and soon, so is her mouth. As he exploringly intertwines his tongue with hers, his hands move from resting on the couch to her hips. They pull her torso closer to his, not necessarily in a more comfortable position, but so that he can feel her warmth exciting him.
She moves her hands to his chest so that her position will be less awkward, and makes the observation that his muscles tensed nicely as he concentrated on his tongue. He traces his way downwards and feels for the bottom of her shirt. Sliding the fabric upwards, his fingers land like a blind man on her hot back, her taut belly, the soft, untouched skin. She shivers as the cold fingers flit over her, wandering, and meeting at the base of her spine. From there, they begin to slide even more upwards, scrunching the fabric with them.
She knows what to do, and takes her hands from their position on his chest to slowly unbutton his shirt. She fumbles at them for a while, distracted by his lips, which are now on a downwards path from her mouth to her neck. Involuntary murmurs escape her lips as his hot lips suckle her pulse, then move down to her collar bone. She finally removes his shirt, finding another under it. Undaunted, she slides her fingers under it, relishing the feel of his abdomen, and even higher, his chest.

Chapter 27: Goodbye

He started to unfold the note she had slipped into his backpack. He smiled bitterly. The note was folded as an envelope, like always. It smelled faintly of her.
“Meet me in the first 200 wing, right after school tomorrow. Please, come alone.”

He checked his watch. He wouldn’t see her again today, because school had just ended and he didn’t have any classes with her anyways. He wondered what she wanted.
If it had been a year ago, he would have been thrilled to get this request from her. His mind would have been spinning with the possibilities and reasons why she could possibly have wanted to see him. Alone.

The next day, she was on his mind constantly. He grimaced whenever she popped into his mind because he knew that was why she gave him the note a day before, just to be on his mind. But he knew he had to acknowledge her cleverness.

Finally, the bell rang, signalling the temporary freedom of the students and teachers alike. He made an excuse, waved goodbye to all of his friends, and slowly made his way to the first 200 building. When it was in his sight, seeing nothing, he was about to turn around when he saw a slight movement from within the shadows. Walking cautiously closer, he came to a corner. She stepped out from behind it, looking at the floor. He noticed she had gotten a haircut. Her hair was shorter than when he had last seen her.

“Well? You called me here,” he started. He hesitated, noting the forlorn look on her face. She lifted her eyes a bit, not quite looking into his eyes, but just behind him. He resisted the urge to turn around and check if there was anybody behind him, even knowing that they were the only ones there.

“Who is she?” She asked in a quiet voice, making him a bit unsure if he had heard her correctly.

“Who?”
“I heard you liked a girl in you class. Who is she?”
“…I…Where did you hear it from?”

She tilted her head, finally looking him in the eyes.
“Stop playing around”
She stepped closer.
“Tell me. I think I deserve to know. After all you put me through.”
Another step.

“I don’t know what youre…”
“YES, yes you do. STOP lying to me.”
“Calm down..”
“STOP telling me what to do!”
“Ok, I’m sorry”

A step closer. They were a foot apart now. He could smell her, she smelled slightly nostalgic, and he shook his head, thinking about it.
He stepped closer instinctively.

“I..”
“…”

She felt his breath on her neck. She held hers.
He inhaled, savoring her smell, remembering it.
All her thoughts disappeared, and she raised her hand to his cheek hesitantly. He lifted his hand over hers. Their breaths almost in sync, she closed her eyes while he gently placed his lips onto hers. He raised his other hand to her neck, but felt something drop on his hand. Touching her cheek, he realized it was tears. He pulled apart, and she looked away, her wavy chestnut hair covering her face. Then, covering her mouth with her hands, she turned and ran.

Without a second thought, he ran after her. Catching up to her with ease, he grabbed her arm, slowing her to a stop. She was looking away, so he said it to her back.

“I’m sorry…I..I cant love you”

“Goodbye.”

Chapter 26: The End of the Beginning

We met on the December of 2009. It was the end of the first semester of the eighth grade.
We talked about unicorns and dragons; which one was better.
You chose dragons, so I had to choose unicorns just so I could hold a conversation with you.
Then came the meaningful spams, the exchange of songs  (you gave me several long playlists that I tried very hard to complete), and inside jokes including replacing "haha" with "pickle pickle", velociraptors, and you writing me stories.
We both loved andrea bocelli's "cant help falling in love" and would text the lyrics of that song to each other in all CAPS.
We stayed up long nights together, writing poetry with subliminal messages,
me writing a poem good enough for you right before I went to sleep, and
waking up in the mornings with the anticipation of a response in the morning.
You never failed to impress me, but looking back now, I smile sadly at our childish antics.
I remember being so impressed at your ability to play violin, after having heard you play only once,
and aspired to be like you. I restarted violin the following year, just so I could be in the same class as you. (What's ironic is, now that I finally am, we're strangers again).
I remember your lunches that I always wanted to eat, I remember the corny pick up lines we exchanged once we finally got together,
I remember exchanging books with you, after...that...just so I could continue talking with you
when I have no excuse to otherwise.
I hated you. I loved you.
I remember the poems you wrote me.
I remember all those times you analyzed me, thinking you knew me.
I remember these things like they were yesterday.
I remember you like you were yesterday, so it still hurts like it was yesterday.

Chapter 25: (Sorry, I realize I'd already posted the previous one, so here's a filler)

On writing an autobiography:
I have nothing against it. Seriously, some may think that writing a book all about one's own achievements may get boring and have no relative importance, but hey, that's the one thing someone can talk about for hours on end: oneself. I mean, if I could get paid to write my life's story, I most definitely would, but since I'm a yet-to-be-discovered wonder, blogs are all I can get. And, being a textbook narcissist and wallower, I've filled up this blog with romanticized stories and nonsense about a world I wish I lived in. I look around me, and I realize that I hate a lot of people. Actually, no, not hate, really. I just...I don't particularly care for their existence, which is worse (and it's even more sad that I get emotionally attached to the problems of others whereas the problems of people in real life only serve to annoy me and make me all existential and whatnot). Why, you ask (you really didn't ask)? It's because humans are so shallow. There is an extraordinarily little amount of people who actually don't care about what others think, or even say, and those singular people, not the hyped up hippies we see today, are the real hipsters. Underground music choice doesn't make you different from others. Dressing like a fashionable slut or grandpa doesn't, either. But I'm getting off on tangent here. What I mean about people being shallow is that all they think about are the here and now, like, the people I see around me worry so much about the next quiz or the boy they think likes them, or about hating other people (see a trend here?). And what makes me hate them even more is that I'm exactly like them, is not worse. At least other people are getting somewhere. I've talked to some people who I don't necessarily regaurd as the great thinkers of our generation (not that I am either), and nearly all of them have a goal in life and are working towards it. Nevermind that most of them are goals driven into them at a very young age, or that monetary gains are a main drive behind them. But with myself, I don't even have a goal in life. I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing, or who I am. I'm just a nothing person going nowhere, and hating others for being a step ahead of me. jiodhagkl.

Chapter 24: A short story

Disclaimer: I did not write this story, a good friend of mine did.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a glass house in the forest. She had spent days constructing it, pouring her heart out into building it. And every day after it was finished, she would sit and wait for someone to come by and admire it, but sadly, no one was there to admire it but her own self. After a month, she felt wretched. Miserable and forlorn, every day after she would sit in her glass house, letting the sun beat down on her back as she wallowed in self-pity. One day, she was sitting in the center when she heard a crack. She looked and saw that one of the corners was a bit damaged. Suddenly, the crack grew wider and wider at a rapid pace. Alarmed, she reached for some duct tape and tried to patch it up, but to no avail. Cracks seemed to multiply as they zigzagged across the walls.
But just then, a boy venturing into the forest ambled through the clearing and saw at once the girl sitting in the middle of the cracking structure, fear in her eyes. He broke into a sprint, and dove through the broken glass to where she sat, trembling. And then the glass shattered. She passed out.
She woke up after a time, and slowly lifted her head. Memory came flooding back, and she stood up in alarm. The boy lie next to her, dead, with glass shards embedded into the back of his shirt. Blood stained the clear, sharpened pieces that surrounded them. Tears followed. He had died protecting her, a girl he had never known, without a second thought. And no matter what he may have really been like, the girl thought he was the most beautiful person she'd ever met.
The girl sat and and thought long after all tears had left her, but sobs still coursed through her body.
"This glass house I have built...it is just like my heart, so fragile and untouched."
She smiled a bitter smile. "This boy tried to pick up the broken pieces of my soul, but he only broke it further. And it's just as well that this house, built with all my heart, should perish beside it."
And with that, she closed her eyes and stopped sobbing.
And slowly picked up the closest piece of glass.
And stilled her beating heart, for it was already dead to the world.
With that, the last pieces of standing glass fell to the earth, and two bodies lay pierced and bloodied in the center, together for all to admire.

Chapter 23: My Response

You asked me this. If there was ever a time when I had anticipated something for a long time, but when there actually came an opportunity for it, shrugged it off for another time. I know you were talking about telling me you loved me, but I laughed it off and, feigning ignorance, changed the subject. I can't do this anymore, and I don't know how to handle situations like these. Where I know you want nothing else but for me to know how you feel about me, and I want nothing else but for us to just be friends. You're young. And you live with the idea that one only lives once. And so you're willing to rush into love and relationships and titles and responsibilities. But I've seen and experienced the hardships and expectations that come with things like these, and I know for sure that I'm not ready for something like that. I'm fine if you like me, just don't tell me. I'll be close to you and treat you special, if we don't have to label what we have, or what we think we have. If there are no expectations, no ties, nothing official, I'm fine with it. Just don't expect me to admit anything, or to confess my true feelings. I'm not ready for anything like that. And anways, why can't we just have what we have now?

Chapter 22: This is what I get for leading myself on

I know it seems like nowadays we are getting along better than we have ever before, but it's all lies. Right now, you are realizing or have already realized that I like you. And I am beginning to doubt that you have ever liked me. And so this game of the mind begins. Having once believed that I held the upper hand, I find myself on the other side of a turned table, and at the mercy of your whims. You are too kind, however, to subject me to them, thus leaving me in a state of checkmate; I know you have won, yet you are not making the final move to finish me off. You refuse to finish with the coup de grace. You think it's the right thing to do. And certainly, it is the easiest. But all you are succeeding in accomplishing now is the breaking of a fragile heart, and making sure that I will be reluctant to ever fall in love again.
I know it seems like nowadays we are getting closer than ever, but I know it's all a pretense.

Chapter 21: What I realized tonight

All I need is some confirmation. I'm sorry if I sound like some desperate girlfriend or something, because I know I'm not even that to you. What I'm trying to say is, I never even heard it from your lips. I don't even know if what I think you feel is, in fact, what you really feel, and not something I want to feel and am disillusioned about you feeling. I know you felt this way about me before, and now I feel like a real douche when I say that finally, after all this time, I've stopped caring about what other people think so much that I finally let myself feel this way back to you. Now all I can think about is you. And all I can do when I'm around you is hope your feelings are as strong as the were two years ago. Because it would suck, as much as I deserve it, if when my feelings for you reached their zenith, you rejected me, saying sorry. You don't feel that way before. Because believe me, that's happened to me before. And it broke my heart. And I'm not sure if I'm ready at all for it to happen to me again. Whatever. I have to try something soon. But for now, I'll just have to content myself with how we are now, waiting in hopes that you'll someday tell me directly what I pray is true. I love you.

Chapter 20: Tribute to John Green

Because he is the best author in the world. And will not respond to any of my tumblr asks. Please answer me John Green! You are my Hero!!

Chapter 19: Truth

Knowing too much and knowing too little:
When the combo you need isn't found in the middle,
And when what you want aint at all what you need,
The feeling is planted in you like a seed.
The feeling of incomplete, yearning, but hope,
Grows in the pit of your stomach and gropes,
Grabs at your weak heart, not at all gentle,
Up your throat, in your chest, and driving you mental.
You know all you know, but not what has matter
The seed grows to a tree, reaching up for the latter.
And you become something other than what you are
Your yearning for "truth", your true self will mar
And finally you discover the mystery
And then you, your mind, and your heart are all history.

Color my life with the chaos of trouble...
-Belle and Sebastian

Chapter 17: The train ride

We carry Sera onto the train. We love the way she says how old she is when we ask her. She shouts it out like it's the most important thing about her than we can ever know. She is in your lap, and facing me. You comment on the fact that you can feel her breathing through your shirt, her tiny body pressed up against yours as the train rides on. You hand her to me as we settle down in side-by-side seats facing an old couple. They smile at us and tell us how cute Sera is. I am immediately embarrassed that they might think we are a young couple. You don't seem to mind, and chat amiably with them until there is no more small talk. I hold Sera in my lap, feeling the small warmth, which, despite the sweltering heat, feels precious and different. You motion for me to hand her back to you, the look on your face showing concern for my comfort. You think I might get tired holding her for so long. I hand her back to you, but scoot closer to you, so that my head almost rests on your shoulders but not quite. As you murmur conversationally to Sera, I close my eyes, letting the smell of your shirt and skin waft into my nostrils, imagining you and what we could be. I hear you calling my name, and I look up, aware of the small distance between our faces, and I hope the heat doesn't show on my face. You say something to me, but I don't think I heard, because I'm so aware of your eyes on my eyes, the same consistency as chocolate on the tongue. I suddenly remember something that my friend told me, about how if someone stares into your eyes for more than 7 seconds, they want to have sex with you. I can't handle his gaze, and I look away. My arm touches his, and I am suddenly aware of how comfortable we are together. We fit like two puzzle pieces in a two piece puzzle. I don't let my head touch your shoulder, though, because that would mean that you're mine. And I can't have you knowing that that's all I really want. And I can't have you confirming that I'm yours, heart and soul. Because that would mean you have me. And you can go out there and do anything you want, knowing that in the end, you'll still have me. Am I making this too serious for you? Sorry. It's because of things like this, these things that cloud my head, that all I want is to live in the moment. All I need is for you to be here in the train, so close we are touching, but so out of reach, sharing warmth, sharing Sera, for this short while. Because when the train ride ends, and the destination is reached, you won't be mine anymore. And I don't know how to deal with that.

Chapter 16: A description of you

There's no way to describe it in a way that would fully express the splendor and sexiness of you, but I'll try. And I know there's no way you'll ever see this, but bear with me now. First, your back. The way your shirt clings to and hangs of the muscular ripples of your back, especially in a white t-shirt, never fails to make me have to bite my lip to keep from reaching out and feeling it's warmth and strength. It's perfect width provokes a certain desire to drape myself across it, under it, and to be embraced in it. Second ,are your eyebrows. The manliness of their bold lines may seem weird to fangirl over, as a lot of people would find them a trivial aspect of a sexy guy, but I focus on these especially. They way they stoop and form a wrinkle in the skin between when you look up at me through them, they way you furrow them in thought (may haps thoughts of me?), and the way they lift in elation, or curiosity, or amusement when exchanging glances with me from across the room, sends tingles down my spine and into my toes. Third, your smile. Those perfectly pearly whites that are teeth, the tortuous effort of years of wired pain and monotony, has finally paid off. Your smile is perfect, and when utilized at all, sends my heart straight to my throat. I don't know what other way to say this, but your very existence drives me crazy, insane, loopy, loony, and totally euphoric.

Chapter 15: On loving someone you can never have

The teacher cracks another lame joke, and I look across the room to catch his eye. As I suspected, his eyes meet mine, and I feel the spark that animates their deep brown color like a telephone wire connected straight into my heart. He smiles, looking up through his eyebrows, and bites the corner of his lip. My heart does a triple flip and lands in my throat. He looks back towards the front of the room and leaves me to recover. As my heart rate climbs steadily down to meet a beat somewhere around normal, I risk another glimpse his way. His hand meanders through his hair, ruffling through the dark brown perfection, and leaving tufts of hair sticking everywhere in a tousled way. If my throat was made of graphite, it would already have turned to diamond from the pressure my heart puts on it. I can't help but think I love him I love him I love him and run my hand through my hair. I shake my head. I can't be caught making faces at him. I can't even be caught making jokes with him and laughing at every funny little thing he says. I can't let him know that I like him. there are reasons, and I need to stick by them. I can't ... I just ...want.. I think... I think I really love him.

Chapter 14: Touch

Why is it that when I get close to someone,
I absolutely must touch them? I need to know
What they feel like, I need
To exchange warmth.
I relish in the rush of
Meeting fingers,
The electricity dances across
The unwarranted touch and
The way your eyes
Flash that uncertainty
Triggers the adrenaline in my system
And makes the back of my ears buzz.

Chapter 13: Remembering you in someone else's smile

I remember you
In someone else's laugh
Someone else's jokes
Someone else's smile
I remember the warmth in your
Touch, the way you handled me
The way your fingers skated across
My bare skin
I remember your eyes
The gleam in their translucent brown,
The depth in their feeling
The way they would speak
I remember how you would
Profess your love to me
Saying you would have me
Until the rain fell up
And the trees grew down.
But in this upside down world,
All I have now
Is someone else
To remember you by.

Chapter 12: Maybe this is why I like the piano so much

He plays piano next to you
And you can’t help but
Pay special attention to his breath,
The movement of the very air you breathe
Through his body.
He presses the keys beside you
And you notice his arms
The smooth movement of muscle
Under that ridiculously soft skin.
A tight want wells up within you
When his fingers make music
That dances in your ears
And you sit beside him
And feel the warmth of his arm
Touching yours
And the length of his leg
Alongside yours
You can’t help but wish he knew,
Can’t help but wish he was yours.

Chapter 11: Regrets

I guess I wish I'd never met you. Because if this is what we turn out like, I'd forfeit all we once had for it to be different. I'd give up the innocence of our first kiss, exchanged with shut eyes and a racing heart. I'd exchange the countless nights spent with the light of screens reflecting light off of our faces while we haggled for a few more moments together before midnight. I'd take back the letter I wrote to you when I first confessed my feelings towards you. I remember the beats my heart skipped as I wrote it once, and again, "I love you". I know I'd give all these things up to not be like we are now.
Because when I see you in the halls, or anywhere, you don't know me. And when I try to talk like the old times, you don't reply. I can't bear not being someone you cherish. I can't stand being someone you have to spend time with, not the girl you couldn't wait to see.

Chapter 10: Freudian Slip (n.)

"A verbal mistake thought to reveal an unconscious belief, thought, or emotion.
ex// A newspaper misreported the title of Meithers' first lecture, "Problems of Cosmic Physics," as "Problems of Cosmetic Physics"- either a Freudian slip or an intentional slight.

The term "Freudian slip" originates from the work of the Austrian neurologist Sigmund Freud (1856-1939) who first described the psychoanalytic theory go psychological development. According to Freud, the mind is divided into three levels of consciousness- the conscious, which represents awareness of everyday life; the unconscious, which contains elements that are not subject to conscious perception or control but can affect conscious thoughts and behaviors; and the preconscious (popularly called the subconscious), which contains material that has been repressed to a certain extent but can be brought into conscious awareness with therapy.
In his 1901 book "The Psychopathology of Everyday life", Freud referred to "slip of the tongue" and "faulty action" as a general error of thought, speech, or action resulting from wishes, conflicts, or other psychological material from the unconscious or preconscious mind the the speaker manifests unwillingly. This led to the contemporary term, "Freudian slip", a verbal mistake that shows a person's unconscious thoughts or wishes."

-100 Words Every High School Graduate Should Know by Editors of the American Heritage Dictionaries.

Chapter 9: An Innocent Love

There was a sort of childlike innocence to her love. She was at that age where all of her peers would come home from their one night stands in the mornings, carrying their strappy red heels with two fingers, and tiptoe over the cold tiled floors to the comfort of their own beds. She had never been a part of this, of course, being too frequently occupied with her work, academics, or other extracurriculars. She hadn't given a second thought to the love lives of her peers, and had been at a comfortable limbo with her own. And it wasn't even until she met him that she had realized she even had these feelings. She had always assumed that love was a choice, which all the other girls went out to seek "love" as an amusement, to fill in their spare time. It was too tedious for her, however, and all that commitment, sneakiness, and obsession were too much to worry about. But it was all different with him.
When she was with him, she experienced something completely different. Something so exciting, so dangerous, and yet, something to innocent.
To describe it, when she sat next to him, she would experience a sort of bliss, a euphoria. Her face would rapidly color, her heart rate climb, her stomach catch in her throat. She would feel the need to speak, to attain his attention, his approval, but could never think of anything to say to him, so filled was her mind of him. And if she did manage to squeeze in a few words and make him laugh, she would be so caught up in the harmonic resonance of his laughter, the crinkled slope of his eyebrows, the dimple that greeted his left check, that she would be hence fro zed in awe and therefore be unable to attempt any further conversation.
Then, when she had been able to loosen up around him, enough to enjoy their conversations, she would often find part of their witty banter irrefutably interesting and would repeat bits of it to her friends, chuckling to herself at parts of it she remembered suddenly.
And during their meals shared, she would notice the smallest things about him. From the inexplicably warm scent that subtly surrounded him to the curl of hair that adorned the nape of his neck, to even the twinkle in his eyes that widened in amusement of happiness, there were little things about him that would not, could not escape her notice. There was a sort of childlike innocence to her love, the way she craves his attention, his love, his touch. There was an innocence in the specialness of their first kiss, the way it was to be treasured in her heart forever

Chapter 8: Speak Now

The setting sun turns into grey
I search myself for things to say
You stand here in front of me
Daring "us" and love to be
As if your thoughts can change my life
But silence cuts me like a knife
No words or deeds will find my heart
This interaction cannot start
Instigate the conversation
Turn somber stares into elation
Lift your tongue to start anew,
Now you know what to do

Chapter 7: Things fall apart

The saddest thing is to watch two good friends fall apart. It's devastating for spectators, surrounding friends, related people. It's world-changing for those involved. It's a whole new eye-avoiding, heart-wrenching, gut-pulling, friend-splitting, fake-laughing, silence-creating world of tears, pain, emptiness, and loneliness. It's sad because one minute, two friends cannot be separated, sharing laughter and moments, inside jokes and exchanged glances. And suddenly, boom, crash. It's over. You can't speak to each other. You can't look at each other. You can't hang out in the same place or with the same friends anymore because they'll be there. And all through that, there's a constant heart throb, a dull pain making it's way into your clenching stomach, your frogging throat. And when you finally get your mind off of that and start to enjoy yourself, you suddenly see something funny and turn to tell your friend, and your face falls when you realize he isn't there anymore. And when you're all alone at night and those days spent in deep conversation with that friend are all silent and empty, like a dark, endless hole has been dug inside your heart, and you feel so low you don't want to do anything at all but wallow in that feeling of depression. And sometimes it gets so bad you want to hurt yourself...but you don't. Instead, you just cry. You cry because you know what the two of you had, the relationship that had been, isn't there anymore. You cry because you know you can never find another friend like him again.
It's the saddest thing when that happens, please take your relationships with people seriously. Handle with care because you'll miss it when it breaks

Chapter 6: I dare you to lose

Whoever talks first, breaks first and we don't want that.
So we stay quiet and lonely and ignore the pulling feeling.
Of want? Of yearning?
No, something else.
Of guilt.
Of a covered anger.
A refusal to show the weakness of giving in from your side.
Neither side thinks they're wrong.
Neither side admits to anything.
Whoever breaks the silence loses.
Whoever keeps the silence is broken.

Chapter 5: Theatre

The first time I went to a high school play, it was the most brilliant thing I had ever been a part of. The queued lighting, the special effects, the way the actors believed in who they had become so much, that it took you into another world. I fell in love with that world, that place, as soon as I set foot into it. I was only 8 years old at the time, and I know it sounds cliche, but I felt as if I had known this world of stagecraft in another life. Throughout the entire play, I was enraptured, laughing aloud when a character made a particularly witty comment, my heart breaking when the protagonist burst into tears, my head buzzing in rage when the villain came up with a wicked scheme. And at the very end, when the players came out for a final bow, and a quick speech, they said something I would never forget. The senior of the cast stepped up and told the audience that it would be his last time up on that stage. He had come so far with this group, and he was proud of each and every one of them for making the magic possible. He then cleared his fogging up throat and choked out that there was, in fact, a special bond that could only be found in the world of acting, and between them. And from that moment on, my eight year old self had made up my mind. I wanted to be an actress.

Chapter 4: Poems

She sits herself down in front of the computer and sighs. As the breath leaves her lips, she feels the heaviness of her thoughts overwhelm her. She opens a document and begins to write.

Remember When?

Remember when we had just met and everything we had was magic?

Remember when we were best friends

and parting was so tragic?

Remember times we spoke all night

only to meet in the morning?

Remember us, how we used to be?

When nothing you said was boring?

Remember when we ended it?

When the nights became so dark?

Remember when I stayed up crying

and felt my heart tear apart?

Remember when the days became

like timeless, endless holes?

Remember when "being friends"

was eating at our souls?

Remember when we were "just friends",

and words were tippy toes

treading softly over hurts

and feelings we used to know?

Remember when we chatted sometimes

counting who had started it?

The small talk was so shallow that

so eagerly we departed it.

Remember when we found the common

ground and happily shared it?

Remember when we were best friends?

No one else could have better paired it.

Remember when we drew so close

I could swear there was something between us?

Remember when I messed things up?

If someone could only have seen us!

That night I swear I cried all night

and in the morning hoped

It was all a dream, and I

had just from it awoke

Just seeing you again was like

a dagger to my chest.

If I had seen us two years back

I never would have guessed

Chapter 3: The problem

The single life is pretty interesting, actually. But that's not what I'm here to talk about. See, the problem of the matter is that when she falls, she falls completely. And I have to be here to catch her when you don't. The problem is that I have to be the one to pick up the pieces of her heart as they shatter to the ground, and I have to be the one to watch as she glues them together, hoping it'll hold.
And it's not a problem that it's me that's there for her, no. The problem is that it's not you that's there with her to hold her trembling shoulders as she weeps tears that are shed in your sake. The problem is that it's not you that is there to protect her, to assure her, to whisper in her ear that you will never leave her. It's supposed to be you that ends up with her.


(from the POV of the "nice guy")

Chapter 2: Noah

Sometimes, when I close my eyes and think of just things in general, I end up thinking about this one kid I met two years ago named Noah. I don't know why Noah keeps popping up in my mind like one of those pimples you get on your face repeatedly even though you try all those crazy concoctions that are supposed to get rid of the spots, but anyhow. Sometimes I think of the little poems he used to write me. Noah's this sort of brilliant kid, and his ability to use actual words alone to describe exactly what his brain wants to say is amazing. Part of what I felt for him was admiration. Actually, most of what I felt was admiration because damn, that kid was good at everything. Anyways, I keep remembering staying up late, later than I would at any other time in my life (so, about 12 pm), waiting for one of those poems. We would have these epic poem battles where each poem was like a little hidden subliminal message, and what was hidden was that we liked each other.

Another thing Noah was really magnificent at was playing the cello. Really,he could play any instrument, but when he picked up the cello, I swear every girl in the room, or within a mile radius of him would wet their pants, and in the good way. Some guys might have, too.

Noah and I didn't really "go out", per say, but we definitely had a thing. What else would you call basically talking every single moment of the day for an entire half year? And it wasn't even just one of us talking and the other gets bored and wishes to end the conversation as quickly as humanly possible, but the conversations were so intense that sometimes I would curl upon my bed with my phone or my laptop and just lie there for an hour before having the perfect response for him.

One day, it was just over. Nothing faded, but I thought we were too young for things to get anywhere serious. It was supposed to be a clean cut, but I guess these kinds of things just don't go away like that.

Anyway, It's been almost a year and a half since then, and I guess even my memories of him will go away and it'll be like he never even existed. After all, half a year isn't so much.

But who am I kidding?

Chapter 1: Introducing Amanda

I've always wanted somebody to write a biography of my life. You know, so that when I die and rot in my grave, there could at least be something left of me in this world. So that I won't be completely forgotten. That's what I'm afraid of, really, being forgotten. I'm scared silly of dying, and after I die, and everyone else that I know dies too, that there won't be anything left of me in this world. Not a memory, a mark, a trace, nothing. And then I'll have been nothing. It'll be like I haven't even existed. That being said, it'd be nice to have a biography written on my life.
 The only problem is, there's nobody to write one of me. A biography, I mean. It's not like I'm interesting or anything either. I avoid talking about myself to other people because I know that deep down, I'm as ordinary and boring as a grain of sand on the sea shore. I'm the sort of sand piece that knows it's exactly the same as the rest of the little grains of sand, and yet tries to be different or something by shining extra hard or sticking to someone's foot trying to get somewhere new.

 So I've been thinking about this predicament that I have, in my free time, and I came to a conclusion. I could write my own autobiography. Not now, of course, because I haven't done anything worthwhile in my life. And even I, as a grain of sand, know that. But I could start, at least, with small stories about myself, with funny things or sad things that happen to me. Maybe then I wouldn't be so afraid anymore.