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.