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.