Dealing with the noise & haste.

I can’t draw.  I’ve been avoiding it for a while now, just trying to let “it” happen.  Whatever “it” may be.  It’s been almost half a year since I’ve actually sat down and sketched something, and a year since I’ve painted.  

That’s a lie.  I just tried to draw. And it was awful.  Me be an art major is a joke. 

I’ve lost my drive for art and I’ve lost my drive for soccer.

What am I now?  Those were my two defining areas.

Now I’m just that Ellen Page Look-alike with the scarves.

God damnit.

I just want my own shirt shop where I can make whatever I please and people will buy it.

Or just win the fucking lottery, I’m done with this shit.

Seriously, I never feel like I’ve made enough pasta.  I can never gauge the correct nomming amount for two people.  I always make not-enough.

This time Abby has graciously let me devour the whole portion, taking pity on me after noticing I was stirring with a knife and adding garlic oil to the pasta water.  

I think it tastes fine.

She will be swayed eventually because it smells fucking awesome.

I want you to kiss me.  Not just, “Someone should kiss me.” I want you to kiss me.  Anywhere, I don’t care. I want to be in contact with you because you look so comfortable and warm. I associate you with safety because you’re protective and I like being protected sometimes.  I honestly enjoy that I can just be myself around you and I know no matter how far off my mind may wander you won’t let me walk into people or cars or walls.  It stems further than that though, you keep the creeps at bay, funny looks and your arm is around me.  You can tell too, when I see those crazy-pretty girls, that I start to compare  myself to them.  You just look at me like, “Seriously? Are you kidding me right now?” like it’s so obvious that I’m pretty or something.

And you’re so fucking far away.  Who will watch me now? 

I’ll get hit by a car. 

It’s not fair. You should’ve worked up the courage to talk to me prior to you leaving for two whole years.  You suck.

And I like you.

And you’re cool.

And I hate that this happens to people.

Erk.

You’re just one of those guys.  One that I probably won’t forget but will never speak to again.  I had a weird dream about you and ever since you’ve just stuck with me.  You’re going to be gone for a very, very long time and when you come back I doubt there’ll be any reason for me to go see you, but I’ll want to.  Badly.  Supposedly you asked about me, but I cannot believe half of what they say anymore.  I’d still like to think that you did.  I’m sorry, if you did ask, about not being up there more often.  I don’t think anyone else wanted me there though so I didn’t bother.  You stirred things up in my head, made me feel lighter. More free.  We went to that show and you kept your arm around me, whenever it looked like someone was going to start moshing too closely you pulled me closer.  It’s probably like that with every girl, all girls, but I felt… Prettier when you looked at me.  

I’ll miss you, the possibility of you and how you made me feel.